It's the last day of school, a cause for celebration of the impending freedom that comes with summer. Yet I'm feeling the pull of life zipping me along at lightning speed. Isn't there any way to slow down this ship?
As of today, I am officially the mom of a senior in high school. What an exciting time for him! And yet he's also adjusting to the new world order. Last weekend he began work at his first job as a dishwasher at the Winking Lizard in Avon. We paid a visit to the bank to open up his first checking account now that he gets direct deposit (now that's a change from when I was a kid).
He listened carefully as the bank manager explained online banking, receiving his updates via text, his options with respect to new banking regulations (we opted to have his debit card declined when over the balance rather than suffer the cost of overdraft fees) and the responsibilities that come with a first checking account.
As we walked out of the bank, I told him he was a big boy now. He was suddenly very quiet. I asked what was wrong and he replied, "Life is suddenly moving very fast."
Wow! Yes. It. Is.
Ryan turns 18 in November, time to register to vote and for the draft. He's making decisions about his future--what career to pursue, what college to attend, whether or not to pursue playing football in college.
He's our first, so for better or worse, he's our guinea pig. Hopefully, we haven't done too badly by him. I know that I couldn't be more proud to be his mom. But in the quiet moments of the day I ponder pushing the pause button on life. Actually, it doesn't even have to stop, but I wish it could slow down. I just want to marinate for a while.
Another sign of the speed of life
Today, my parents are off on a month-long trip out West. They are both officially retired. My dad retired a year ago, but my mom just retired from MetroHealth on Wednesday. After years of angst about the security of their golden years, she has embraced the freedom. She called me Wednesday night, as giddy as a young girl at the prospects ahead. I couldn't be happier for them.
Safe journey, Mom and Dad.
Showing posts with label boys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boys. Show all posts
Friday, June 04, 2010
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Are YOU ready for some football?
It's football season in my house. What does that mean? Thursday freshmen games, Friday night varsity games and Saturday afternoon 5th-6th tackle.
Patrick is playing wide receiver and safety on the Bay High freshman football team. My son, who at 120 pounds has the distinction of being the lightest player on the high school roster, made three fumble recoveries last week against Westlake.
Michael is playing center and nose guard on the 5th-6th Bay rec team. He's the shortest guy on the line, but he's the loudest one on the field. Can't wait to watch him in a live game.
After the trials of previous seasons, Ryan is the QB on the Bay High varsity team. So far the team is 1-1 after a heartbreaking loss to Westlake last Friday. But they are working hard and have a great attitude going into this season. You can watch video of his TD pass at the modern-day sports marvel that is Al & Larry Sports. Now where's my wallet....
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Christmas 2008
The Brothers Hoke
Ryan (16), Patrick (14), Michael (9)
This was as good as it gets for a group photo of the boys. They were truly clowns this year, particularly Middle Son. When Youngest Son made a dig, he promptly got Middle Son's boney elbow in his belly. Youngest Son's eyes are a little moist in the photo, but I told him it looked as if he were laughing instead of crying.
Youngest had a rough Christmas. At about 9:30 p.m. on Christmas Eve, he came storming downstairs into the dining room where I had spread before me packages for extended family members in need of wrapping. He was angry and huffing and said, "Santa's not real, is he?" I found it surprising and endearing that in fourth grade and at almost age 10 he still believed, despite having two teenage brothers.
"What's the matter, Mikey?" I asked.
"I saw presents wrapped in your closet and one said 'To Ryan, From Santa.' Does that mean you are Santa?"
I couldn't lie to him. "Yes," I said. "I'm Santa."
"That stinks! You mean he hasn't been real--ever!?"
"His spirit is real, Mikey," I said, reaching for some kind of comforting words and coming up empty.
"But I wanted him to be real. I wanted it to be magic," he cried.
"I know, buddy," I said. "But there's still a lot of magic in Christmas. It's Santa's spirit that we carry with us and that makes this such a special time, that we do these nice things for people we love."
There was no pacifying him. He had been hoodwinked and he would not stand for being on the outside. So he marched up to bed hurt and angry.
I warned my hubby in the morning (since he was already in bed at the time of the discovery) and told him it might be a rocky morning. Instead, Mikey was incredibly thankful and wondering how we paid for all the toys and giving us lots and lots of hugs. It was sweet.
Later in the day, he went up to Grandma and told her that he had been upset to find out about Santa on Christmas Eve but that it was also pretty cool what Mom and Dad did every year.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Phelps, ADHD and teachers
Olympic champion swimmer Michael Phelps was diagnosed as ADHD as a child. His mom, Debbie, spoke this week about how swimming helped him to focus. There's this little item from Teacher Magazine this week:
In a recent interview with the New York Times, Deborah Phelps, middle school principal and mother of Michael, the most medaled Olympian in history, remembers how her son’s elementary school teacher once told her, “Your son will never be able to focus on anything.”Good thing he had an elementary teacher willing to think so highly of his talents. What I find most interesting in the comments feed of this post are all the people saying how brave Debbie Phelps is for talking openly about Michael's ADHD. What they should be discussing is how the statement I've bolded makes them look like complete, insensitive cads. Nothing like making an uninformed sweeping judgment about a kid at such an early age to really boost their drive.
That is one MAJOR problem with teachers. They have the power to inspire, which I hope they use well, but they also have the power to kill a kid's spirit.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Get that boy a J-O-B
"You're young, you've got your health. What you want with a job?" — Raising Arizona
Every summer of my teenage existence there would be a day when for no obvious reason (to me and my siblings anyway) my mom would be highly agitated by our physical presence. If you listened closely (which we often didn't), she could be heard uttering things like, "This isn't a flop house." "There are chores to be done." "Go find something to do." "Get a job!"
We're only into the second week of summer and I've already experienced sluggish teens lying around and generally causing agitation both to me and their youngest brother (who seems to have no trouble occupying himself).
Chained to cells phones, texting and a steady diet of ESPN, they seem to be waiting for something to happen, though what exactly is anybody's guess. Middle son does a better job of getting out of the house, except that he seems to do so before having done his chores. In fact, he's quite stealthy in his ways. I'll either be on the phone or deep in thought working on something when he quietly mouths, "Mom, I'm going to Chris's house." I'll wave him away (as in I can't talk about this now) and he takes my wave as tacit approval to disappear.
I look in his room and there sits a basket full of clean laundry, an unmade bed and blinds that have yet to be opened. The basement (which we refer to as his apartment) will have cups and wrappers from the previous night's snacking strewn about. Oy! Thankfully, he's only a cell phone call away.
I've come to the realization that my oldest needs a J-O-B. His early mornings are filled with working out for football. His evenings are for fun and hanging with friends. But he's spent most afternoons flopped on the couch in front of ESPN Classic, watching old college football games.
The problem is, he's only 15 1/2. Were he 16, all sorts of employment options would be available. But this age thing is a real problem. I'll admit, I've been somewhat torn about insisting he work. After all, he has the rest of his life to work. Youth is so fleeting. But he wants money and he needs something to do. Plus he's starting driving and gas is expensive. So we're getting that work permit.
I am forever preaching "resourcefulness" as a virtue and to his credit, oldest found a job nearby that will give him some cash at least until school begins. And the important thing is that it not be a pain in the butt for me, which it isn't because he knows other kids who work there and can provide rides.
Once football is over and he turns 16 then we can reassess his job opportunities. But right now a little bit of something is better than afternoons of nothing.
Every summer of my teenage existence there would be a day when for no obvious reason (to me and my siblings anyway) my mom would be highly agitated by our physical presence. If you listened closely (which we often didn't), she could be heard uttering things like, "This isn't a flop house." "There are chores to be done." "Go find something to do." "Get a job!"
We're only into the second week of summer and I've already experienced sluggish teens lying around and generally causing agitation both to me and their youngest brother (who seems to have no trouble occupying himself).
Chained to cells phones, texting and a steady diet of ESPN, they seem to be waiting for something to happen, though what exactly is anybody's guess. Middle son does a better job of getting out of the house, except that he seems to do so before having done his chores. In fact, he's quite stealthy in his ways. I'll either be on the phone or deep in thought working on something when he quietly mouths, "Mom, I'm going to Chris's house." I'll wave him away (as in I can't talk about this now) and he takes my wave as tacit approval to disappear.
I look in his room and there sits a basket full of clean laundry, an unmade bed and blinds that have yet to be opened. The basement (which we refer to as his apartment) will have cups and wrappers from the previous night's snacking strewn about. Oy! Thankfully, he's only a cell phone call away.
I've come to the realization that my oldest needs a J-O-B. His early mornings are filled with working out for football. His evenings are for fun and hanging with friends. But he's spent most afternoons flopped on the couch in front of ESPN Classic, watching old college football games.
The problem is, he's only 15 1/2. Were he 16, all sorts of employment options would be available. But this age thing is a real problem. I'll admit, I've been somewhat torn about insisting he work. After all, he has the rest of his life to work. Youth is so fleeting. But he wants money and he needs something to do. Plus he's starting driving and gas is expensive. So we're getting that work permit.
I am forever preaching "resourcefulness" as a virtue and to his credit, oldest found a job nearby that will give him some cash at least until school begins. And the important thing is that it not be a pain in the butt for me, which it isn't because he knows other kids who work there and can provide rides.
Once football is over and he turns 16 then we can reassess his job opportunities. But right now a little bit of something is better than afternoons of nothing.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Tuesday Tidbits: Why Joe Biden rocks, WAPO Wonder bread, power and sex in the church and another broken bone
Why Joe Biden rocks
I've been a fan of Sen. Joe Biden's for one simple reason: he is a no-nonsense guy unafraid to speak his mind. It's a shame his presidential run didn't get very far ironically in part because of his forthrightness. If you missed his op-ed in last Friday's Wall Street Journal, I suggest you give it a look. There's also a video bit on MSNBC's "Morning Joe" program below. Biden for veep? Secretary of State?
He does a nice job of talking about the current administration's squandered opportunities. There's this:
Wonder Bread at WAPO op-ed
Last week was one of those weeks when I was working in triage mode getting through various deadlines so I missed getting some things posted that caught my eye. One was WAPO ombud Deborah Howell's look at the complexion of the paper's op-ed pages.
I love the Post, but I have to agree that its op-ed pages are so vanilla that I tend not to read them very often. The old tucks have been holding court so long (and vociferously) that I'm sure there's a "why bother" mentality of some would-be contributors.
But the answer to why bother is that this nation desperately needs to hear new voices. It's the only way to ensure our democracy, which frankly feels "less than" these days. And that's partly because we've been living under an administration that labels citizens as unpatriotic for having a difference of opinion. I saw a bumper sticker on a car in the Bay Village Library today that said, and I'm paraphrasing: Dissent is the truest form of patriotism. If you know anything of Bay Village, you know that it just warms my heart to know that there are few others like me in this town.
A variation of the same could be said of the Catholic church.
Power and sex in the Catholic church
On Thursday, June 5, Cleveland-based FutureChurch welcomes Australian Bishop Geoffrey Robinson who will speak on his book, "Confronting Power and Sex in the Catholic Church: Reclaiming the Spirit of Jesus." Father Donald Cozzens, who used to be a frequent celebrant at my church and is now teaching at John Carroll University, wrote the forward. The public lecture will be held at 7 p.m. at 3430 Rocky River Drive.
This is one of only 10 stops on his U.S. tour. He's been banned from speaking on church property in some places and word is Cleveland Bishop Richard Lennon is not pleased with his appearance here in Cleveland, but (at least for now) is allowing it to take place.
Cardinal Roger Mahony of the Los Angeles Archdiocese banned him because he believes his work is counter to doctrinal teaching. I wonder if Mahony has even read the book. Here's what he wrote to Robinson.
Another broken bone
My little Mikey broke his wrist on Friday while riding his bike home from a friend's house. A very kind mom drove him and his bike home and I wish I knew who she was so I could properly thank her. (I was at my neighbor's and she had left by the time my older boys found me.) Today he is sporting a royal blue cast that goes above his elbow and is already filled with signatures from his friends and teachers. He wouldn't let me sign it first because he didn't want me to spoil the clean look. So I signed after school in very large lettering on the under side of his arm, "LOVE, MOM (smiley face)."
Fortunately, we are only looking at a total of four weeks for this injury and at most, some lost baseball games, a week or two of three-on-three summer hoops and some pool time.
My baby must have been on my brain because I had one of those bizarre dreams in the early dawn today where I was getting everyone off to school—high school and middle school—when a 2-year-old version of Mikey came around the corner and said, "Hi, Mama." And a surprised me said, "Hi, Baby Boy." It was so real that I could see and smell his little toddler face, with his precious little cheeks, his chubby bare feet and his long, fluttery eyelashes.
It was the very best kind of sweetness. Unfortunately, at a beefy 9 years old, there's no way I could balance him on my hip these days.
Word of the day
Manichean: a believer in religious or philosophical dualism
Example: "You're either with us or against us." — President George W. Bush
I've been a fan of Sen. Joe Biden's for one simple reason: he is a no-nonsense guy unafraid to speak his mind. It's a shame his presidential run didn't get very far ironically in part because of his forthrightness. If you missed his op-ed in last Friday's Wall Street Journal, I suggest you give it a look. There's also a video bit on MSNBC's "Morning Joe" program below. Biden for veep? Secretary of State?
He does a nice job of talking about the current administration's squandered opportunities. There's this:
And this:At the heart of this failure is an obsession with the "war on terrorism" that ignores larger forces shaping the world: the emergence of China, India, Russia and Europe; the spread of lethal weapons and dangerous diseases; uncertain supplies of energy, food and water; the persistence of poverty; ethnic animosities and state failures; a rapidly warming planet; the challenge to nation states from above and below.
Instead, Mr. Bush has turned a small number of radical groups that hate America into a 10-foot tall existential monster that dictates every move we make.
Terrorism is a means, not an end, and very different groups and countries are using it toward very different goals. Messrs. Bush and McCain lump together, as a single threat, extremist groups and states more at odds with each other than with us: Sunnis and Shiites, Persians and Arabs, Iraq and Iran, al Qaeda and Shiite militias. If they can't identify the enemy or describe the war we're fighting, it's difficult to see how we will win. (Bold is mine.)
Wonder Bread at WAPO op-ed
Last week was one of those weeks when I was working in triage mode getting through various deadlines so I missed getting some things posted that caught my eye. One was WAPO ombud Deborah Howell's look at the complexion of the paper's op-ed pages.
I love the Post, but I have to agree that its op-ed pages are so vanilla that I tend not to read them very often. The old tucks have been holding court so long (and vociferously) that I'm sure there's a "why bother" mentality of some would-be contributors.
But the answer to why bother is that this nation desperately needs to hear new voices. It's the only way to ensure our democracy, which frankly feels "less than" these days. And that's partly because we've been living under an administration that labels citizens as unpatriotic for having a difference of opinion. I saw a bumper sticker on a car in the Bay Village Library today that said, and I'm paraphrasing: Dissent is the truest form of patriotism. If you know anything of Bay Village, you know that it just warms my heart to know that there are few others like me in this town.
A variation of the same could be said of the Catholic church.
Power and sex in the Catholic church
On Thursday, June 5, Cleveland-based FutureChurch welcomes Australian Bishop Geoffrey Robinson who will speak on his book, "Confronting Power and Sex in the Catholic Church: Reclaiming the Spirit of Jesus." Father Donald Cozzens, who used to be a frequent celebrant at my church and is now teaching at John Carroll University, wrote the forward. The public lecture will be held at 7 p.m. at 3430 Rocky River Drive.
This is one of only 10 stops on his U.S. tour. He's been banned from speaking on church property in some places and word is Cleveland Bishop Richard Lennon is not pleased with his appearance here in Cleveland, but (at least for now) is allowing it to take place.
Cardinal Roger Mahony of the Los Angeles Archdiocese banned him because he believes his work is counter to doctrinal teaching. I wonder if Mahony has even read the book. Here's what he wrote to Robinson.
I have come to learn that you new book is being investigated by the Australian Bishops' Conference because of concerns about doctrinal errors and other statements in the book contrary to Church teaching.What are they so afraid of that they would seek to deny someone's opportunity to have a voice? More to the point: WWJD?I have also learned that His Eminence, Cardinal Giovanni Battista Re, the Prefect for the Congregation of Bishops, has urged you to cancel your visit to the United States.
Consequently, I am hereby requesting that your cancel you visit to the Archdiocese of Los Angeles now set for June 12, 2008. Canon 763 makes it clear that the Diocesan Bishop must safeguard the preaching of God's Word and the teachings of the Church in his own Diocese. Under the provisions of Canon 763, I hereby deny you permission to speak in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles.
Another broken bone
My little Mikey broke his wrist on Friday while riding his bike home from a friend's house. A very kind mom drove him and his bike home and I wish I knew who she was so I could properly thank her. (I was at my neighbor's and she had left by the time my older boys found me.) Today he is sporting a royal blue cast that goes above his elbow and is already filled with signatures from his friends and teachers. He wouldn't let me sign it first because he didn't want me to spoil the clean look. So I signed after school in very large lettering on the under side of his arm, "LOVE, MOM (smiley face)."
Fortunately, we are only looking at a total of four weeks for this injury and at most, some lost baseball games, a week or two of three-on-three summer hoops and some pool time.
My baby must have been on my brain because I had one of those bizarre dreams in the early dawn today where I was getting everyone off to school—high school and middle school—when a 2-year-old version of Mikey came around the corner and said, "Hi, Mama." And a surprised me said, "Hi, Baby Boy." It was so real that I could see and smell his little toddler face, with his precious little cheeks, his chubby bare feet and his long, fluttery eyelashes.It was the very best kind of sweetness. Unfortunately, at a beefy 9 years old, there's no way I could balance him on my hip these days.
Word of the day
Manichean: a believer in religious or philosophical dualism
Example: "You're either with us or against us." — President George W. Bush
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Ryan's narrative essay
With his permission, I thought I'd share Ryan's narrative essay on overcoming an adversity. He wrote about his collarbone break, which he originally said was a stupid idea, for freshman English. "That's not that big of a deal," he told me. "It was to you," I said. "To write a good narrative, you have to write emotionally about something true to you. Others will relate to it because they may have experienced similar feelings in a different setting."
The only tip I gave him was how to get started. Originally, he was starting with the day the break happened. I told him to think about the worst day of the experience. It wasn't the day of the break. He paused at the computer and said, "Strimbu's office that first time was the worst day." So I told him, "Start there." And off he went. This is his essay as he wrote it, though I broke up the paragraphs for easier reading. He got an A on the essay and his English teacher told me during conferences that she learned a lot about how important athletics are for student athletes as a result of what he shared.
Afterword:
“No football.” Those words rang in my head for hours as I thought about what a stupid decision I had made three nights before. The doctor told me that it wasn’t a big deal and that at least I had basketball to look forward to. That was not what I had wanted to hear, especially after all the hard work and time I had put into football this summer.
All summer long I had been getting up at 6:30 A.M. to go to the lifting and conditioning sessions starting the first day of summer. On top of that everyday after lifting I would spend an hour or more throwing routes to my receivers, and working on my footwork. I had high expectations for myself and my teammates in what was going to be my first high school football season. My sessions with my receivers were helping. We were getting our timing down very well and I was throwing some of the best balls I’ve ever thrown.
The day before our first scrimmage, coach called my parents to see if it would be alright with them if I started JV in the scrimmage the next day. The scrimmage was mainly a varsity scrimmage so there wasn’t much time for the JV players, but the time we did have I felt I made the best of in impressing the coaches. I felt invincible and on top of the world because I had just given everyone a taste of what was yet come and I was excited.
Later on that night before the Browns pre-season game we were playing a little pick-up game to kick off the season. For some reason I played really hard and as I was being tackled I tried to lower my shoulder and truck through my friend but he jumped on my back and I landed hard on the grass shoulder first. I heard a loud cracking sound and I knew right away what had happened. I shouted, “Go get my Dad. I just broke my collarbone!” Of course they didn’t believe me and they thought it was funny until they saw how displaced the bone was.
When I was in the emergency room I knew it was bad, but the thought of it ending my season never really crossed my mind. It wasn’t until the orthopedic told me I was looking at a minimum of 8 weeks, which would’ve given me two games left to play in and that was only if everything went fast in the healing process, that I realized I may miss the whole season.
It sounds silly because it was just football, but it affected my self-confidence as I started high school. The one place that I was 100 percent sure of myself was on the football field and being a part of the team already made me feel like I had started high school. Even though I was still on the team, not being able to participate didn’t fit with the vision I had in my head for how my high school career would start. It even affected my grades in school. I couldn’t concentrate at first and I found myself continuously day-dreaming about football. I couldn’t get over the fact that no sooner had I been given this great opportunity that I had blown it.
I would come home everyday and tell my parents how much I wish I could take back that day. Even more than that, I felt like I had let my teammates and coaches down. Because the football program is so small it messed up the whole coaching game plan and many had to move around positions. I know that programs have to do that all the time but I felt like I was the one to blame for all this.
Each week to get through I would distract myself from it by giving myself little jobs to do like filling up water bottles and fetching balls. Just being there also helped because one of the reasons I love football so much is the atmosphere.
The hardest part to get over was pre-game because that’s when I normally am getting really pumped up and excited to go out and do what I need to do to lead my team to victory but I couldn’t do that. Instead I had to watch my friends get ready and go out and have fun and I just felt so helpless and left out.
Freshman and JV games were bad, but varsity was the worst. Everybody dressed for those games regardless of your class, and when the whole school and town are there to watch while everyone is in uniform and ready to play, I’m standing in street clothes feeling left out again. To pass the time I would stick near the offensive coordinator, quarterback coach and the quarterbacks themselves to see what I could pick up and use to my advantage for my return.
Fortunately, I was never the only one in street clothes on the sideline, there were many other injuries through out the season that sidelined my teammates for various durations and we all stuck together and tried to help each other get through our injuries.
Week 8 rolled around and I had a decision to make as to whether I make a risky return or wait it out for the next season to avoid further injury. As much as I wanted to come back and play this season, the severity of the injury meant that one big hit could result in a re-fracture, causing me to also lose the upcoming basketball season.
By the time I had gotten to the doctor’s office I had pretty much made up my mind as to what I wanted to do, and that was to let the bone thoroughly heal and not to risk re-injuring the bone by coming back this season. Six weeks before it would’ve been impossible to imagine that I’d be already at the point where I needed to make a decision on my return. With the season winding down and only two games left to play there wasn’t really much I could do to help the team by returning. I realized that the best thing I could do for my team was to think about returning strong next year.
In football, I’m normally one of the guys that never comes off the field, but this injury gave me a perspective of the kids that don’t get to play. They put in just as much time as me and they may only get in a few plays a game.
As soon as the basketball season is over I will begin my lifting program again and if I even think for a second about complaining I will think about this past season I spent and how bad I missed everything.
After the fall athletic meeting just before school started my 7th grade brother and I walked over to look at the new turf field and I told him I miss everything. “Don’t you ever take any of it for granted,” I said. I told him, “I miss the heat, the hitting, the sound, the grass, the sweat, and even the smell of football.”
Basketball season has ended, with the freshman team as West Shore Conference champs. Lifting is in full swing and aside from a few sore muscles, Ryan has remained true to his word and has not complained. He'll be playing in a 7-on-7 flag football league starting on Saturday night with some of the varsity players. We practically had to pull him off the ceiling when he got the call to participate. It's another year and a new season.
Word of the day
bildungsroman: a novel about the moral and psychological growth of the main character
Friday, March 14, 2008
The influence of mothers
Regular readers of Creative Ink will periodically get a glimpse of my three sons here. Those who know me well, however, know that they are more than just a periodic thought in my head. I am crazy about them, I mean really, truly in love with them.
When my younger sister was pregnant with her first child, I remember trying to explain to her the rush of love you feel for your children. A scary feeling because you suddenly realize how vulnerable you are to loss and devastation should anything happen to them. I try not to be morose, instead choosing to enjoy them—their humor, laughter, arguments, stubbornness, intelligence, sloppiness, athleticism and worldview.
Whenever I arrive home from a trip and I'm excited to tell them about what I've learned or the conversations I've had, the conversation quickly turns from anything I may have to share with them to the wonderful things they want to share with me. Who is going out with whom, the injustices of a basketball game at recess, the latest antics of a teacher or friend, what kind of homework help they need. Sometimes I get angry and hurt when they don't listen. People I meet on my trips actually want to hear what I have to say, I tell them. They look at me blankly in response because I am only mom right now, nothing else.
As they get older, however, I can see my influence on them in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Ryan is keenly aware of injustices in this world and he is not content to just let them pass. Patrick is an old soul, a compassionate person, who tends to withdraw into himself when he's feeling overwhelmed. And Mikey is so fiery in his passion that it can overwhelm everyone around him.
I'm not sure of much in this world, but I do know that I'm a good mother to my boys. It's the best and, frankly, the most natural thing I do. We were at a gathering once and someone was saying, "Just wait, when they're teenagers they will stop talking to you," as if this were something to look forward to. Later my mom told me that she doubted that would happen because my boys and I have always been crazy about each other. She didn't expect them to suddenly shut down.
For the most part, they do still talk to me. At 15, Ryan is very open to both me and my husband. Patrick, at 13, is a little less s0, but you have to get him one-on-one. He won't try to compete to be heard with his older and younger brother around. And Mikey is 9 and tells us that when he's grown up he will have a house big enough for mom and dad to live with him.
Mothers and sons and fathers and daughters. Most of the successful women I've interviewed have always talked about the influential role of their fathers in their lives. Maybe they draw a direct link, but more often it's a subtle connection. Maybe it was just the sense that their fathers gave them permission (verbally or nonverbally) to be anything. The same is true of mothers and sons, though I suspect men have a harder time articulating publicly the influence of their mothers. The sting of the "Mama's Boy" label must still pinch well into adulthood.
Despite the difficulty as a journalist of uncovering that influence, I am always fascinated by the ways in which a mother shapes a son's decisions and values, both good and bad. The New York Times today has an interesting feature story and multimedia segment on Sen. Barack Obama's mother and her influence on him. She died in 1995 so we don't see her standing on the dais with him and his family. There are no extended interviews with Stanley Ann Dunham Soetoro, so we're left to learn about the woman who raised a presidential contender from others. We don't know what her aspirations were for him, the very values she hoped he would carry on, but rather we must rely on the filtering of others for tiny glimpses.
She is described as a big thinker, someone not afraid to speak truth to power, an idealist, hardheaded, intense. "A weaver in college, she was fascinated with what Ms. Soetoro-Ng calls 'life’s gorgeous minutiae.' "
Yesterday, I received a copy of former President Jimmy Carter's memoir, "A Remarkable Mother," about the incomparable matriarch Miss Lillian Carter. She is described in the book flap as "a registered nurse, pecan grower, university housemother, Peace Corps volunteer, public speaker and renowned raconteur."
I look forward to reading it.
My Gram always told me that you can tell a lot about a man by how he treats his mother. When I'm gone from this world, I certainly hope my boys will look back and say, "She was everything to us, but she was more than just our mother. She was adventurous, intelligent, passionate, generous and keenly interested in others. We didn't always hear her when she needed us to listen. But without much fuss, she would set aside her own needs for the betterment of ours. She was always there."
Last is first
Word of the day
prodigious: exciting amazement or wonder
When my younger sister was pregnant with her first child, I remember trying to explain to her the rush of love you feel for your children. A scary feeling because you suddenly realize how vulnerable you are to loss and devastation should anything happen to them. I try not to be morose, instead choosing to enjoy them—their humor, laughter, arguments, stubbornness, intelligence, sloppiness, athleticism and worldview.
Whenever I arrive home from a trip and I'm excited to tell them about what I've learned or the conversations I've had, the conversation quickly turns from anything I may have to share with them to the wonderful things they want to share with me. Who is going out with whom, the injustices of a basketball game at recess, the latest antics of a teacher or friend, what kind of homework help they need. Sometimes I get angry and hurt when they don't listen. People I meet on my trips actually want to hear what I have to say, I tell them. They look at me blankly in response because I am only mom right now, nothing else.
As they get older, however, I can see my influence on them in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Ryan is keenly aware of injustices in this world and he is not content to just let them pass. Patrick is an old soul, a compassionate person, who tends to withdraw into himself when he's feeling overwhelmed. And Mikey is so fiery in his passion that it can overwhelm everyone around him.
I'm not sure of much in this world, but I do know that I'm a good mother to my boys. It's the best and, frankly, the most natural thing I do. We were at a gathering once and someone was saying, "Just wait, when they're teenagers they will stop talking to you," as if this were something to look forward to. Later my mom told me that she doubted that would happen because my boys and I have always been crazy about each other. She didn't expect them to suddenly shut down.
For the most part, they do still talk to me. At 15, Ryan is very open to both me and my husband. Patrick, at 13, is a little less s0, but you have to get him one-on-one. He won't try to compete to be heard with his older and younger brother around. And Mikey is 9 and tells us that when he's grown up he will have a house big enough for mom and dad to live with him.
Mothers and sons and fathers and daughters. Most of the successful women I've interviewed have always talked about the influential role of their fathers in their lives. Maybe they draw a direct link, but more often it's a subtle connection. Maybe it was just the sense that their fathers gave them permission (verbally or nonverbally) to be anything. The same is true of mothers and sons, though I suspect men have a harder time articulating publicly the influence of their mothers. The sting of the "Mama's Boy" label must still pinch well into adulthood.
Despite the difficulty as a journalist of uncovering that influence, I am always fascinated by the ways in which a mother shapes a son's decisions and values, both good and bad. The New York Times today has an interesting feature story and multimedia segment on Sen. Barack Obama's mother and her influence on him. She died in 1995 so we don't see her standing on the dais with him and his family. There are no extended interviews with Stanley Ann Dunham Soetoro, so we're left to learn about the woman who raised a presidential contender from others. We don't know what her aspirations were for him, the very values she hoped he would carry on, but rather we must rely on the filtering of others for tiny glimpses.
“She felt that somehow, wandering through uncharted territory, we might stumble upon something that will, in an instant, seem to represent who we are at the core,” said Maya Soetoro-Ng, Mr. Obama’s half-sister. “That was very much her philosophy of life — to not be limited by fear or narrow definitions, to not build walls around ourselves and to do our best to find kinship and beauty in unexpected places.”Obama would not be interviewed for this article, but evidence of his mother's influence is seen by his most prized keepsake: "a photograph of the cliffs of the South Shore of Oahu in Hawaii where his mother’s ashes were scattered." Maybe he is protective of her, even in death, as are many sons of single mothers. Maybe he feels it's too personal or even painful to discuss publicly. Or maybe those are just thoughts he chooses to keep for himself. Who can blame him?
She is described as a big thinker, someone not afraid to speak truth to power, an idealist, hardheaded, intense. "A weaver in college, she was fascinated with what Ms. Soetoro-Ng calls 'life’s gorgeous minutiae.' "
She wanted to be remembered for her life of service. And perhaps that's her lasting legacy on her son. I'm sure he will someday take the time to explain or write about what his mother means to him. Maybe it's something that comes easier with age and perspective.“She loved living in Java,” said Dr. Dewey, who recalled accompanying Ms. Soetoro to a metalworking village. “People said: ‘Hi! How are you?’ She said: ‘How’s your wife? Did your daughter have the baby?’ They were friends. Then she’d whip out her notebook and she’d say: ‘How many of you have electricity? Are you having trouble getting iron?’ ”
She became a consultant for the United States Agency for International Development on setting up a village credit program, then a Ford Foundation program officer in Jakarta specializing in women’s work. Later, she was a consultant in Pakistan, then joined Indonesia’s oldest bank to work on what is described as the world’s largest sustainable microfinance program, creating services like credit and savings for the poor.
Yesterday, I received a copy of former President Jimmy Carter's memoir, "A Remarkable Mother," about the incomparable matriarch Miss Lillian Carter. She is described in the book flap as "a registered nurse, pecan grower, university housemother, Peace Corps volunteer, public speaker and renowned raconteur."
I look forward to reading it.
My Gram always told me that you can tell a lot about a man by how he treats his mother. When I'm gone from this world, I certainly hope my boys will look back and say, "She was everything to us, but she was more than just our mother. She was adventurous, intelligent, passionate, generous and keenly interested in others. We didn't always hear her when she needed us to listen. But without much fuss, she would set aside her own needs for the betterment of ours. She was always there."
Last is first
"The last thing one discovers in composing a work is what to put in first." — T.S. Eliot
Word of the day
prodigious: exciting amazement or wonder
Thursday, February 28, 2008
A smile on my face
A recent phenomenon has occurred that puts a smile on my face in the middle of the day. My 15-year-old son, who seems to be spending a lot of time in the LIC (formerly known as the library) this semester has taken to e-mailing me in the middle of the day. Just a quick little howdy and occasionally a bit of news, such as the 97/100 he got on the narrative essay he wrote about his broken collarbone for English. I should post it here because it was outstanding. He really got into the narrative style.
The e-mails started last week when he buzzed me to ask if I could bring up some money so he could buy his ticket to the winter dance. Since it's the Sadie Hawkins dance, he didn't need the money after all. But here are some pics from the evening, first with his good buddy Jake (aka Big Man), sporting their matching metallic ties, and his lovely date, Marissa. Most of the freshmen girls and and boys basketball teams went together as a big group. I've only ever seen the girls in basketball uniforms or sweats. They looked beautiful. But I'm so glad I don't have to deal with all the girl stuff. I'd be horrible at that.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
WSC Champs—again!
The Bay High freshmen boys' basketball team captured the West Shore Conference championship in an overtime, defensive brawl against Rocky River. This is the second consecutive year our boys have won the WSC, only this year they did it without four key freshmen who play JV. A great victory!
Thursday, January 03, 2008
How to improve parent-teacher communications
My respect for the teaching profession runs deep. I had teachers from fifth grade on who encouraged me in my writing and provided emotional support when I was an awkward teenager, assuring me that someday all the angst and insecurity would pass (at 40, I think I'm getting close). There also are many teachers in my extended family and a large part of my work revolves around teachers and education.
However, I've also realized as a parent with a kid in high school, middle school and elementary school, where there's room to push and room to grow. I've frankly been around plenty of teachers who hide from parents and plenty of others who simply lack the ability to communicate one-on-one. They are great standing in front of a classroom of kids or parents, but have no idea how to talk to them as individuals.
So of course I was interested in this piece in Education Week about improving communications between parents and teachers. The author's points about teachers recognizing that parents are partners is critical and, by and large, I think most teachers do recognize the partnership.
But there are expanded ways that teachers can improve such a partnership.
1. Resist the urge (no matter how tempting) to stereotype or judge a student. Teachers can be incredibly close-minded and quick to judge. There is nothing quite so infuriating to a parent as listening to a teacher say, "Has he ever been tested for ADD?" or "He's more an athlete than a scholar." If you teach 8- and 9-year-olds then you should know that little boys and probably little girls of that age tend to be a bit wiggly, especially when they are overheated in a stifling classroom, packed in like sardines and deprived of their outdoor recess because of inclement weather. Use your head before making such statements. I'm sure there are children who do suffer from ADD, but I also think that educators must accept some of the blame in pushing the over-diagnosis and medication of young people for attention disorders. One of the first grade teachers at my older boys' elementary school was famous for her diagnosis of ADD or ADHD among nearly every boy she taught.
As to the second comment: That was shared with me by my freshman son's favorite teacher at parent-teacher conferences. I wouldn't dare tell him how this teacher really feels because my son worships him and has aspirations of being a teacher himself. Apparently, eight weeks into his high school career he has already earned the label of "dumb jock." Never mind that up to that point he had never received lower than a B on a report card or that his Ohio Achievement Test scores show that he scores advanced in reading and science and accelerated in social studies. Because he was never taught study skills in middle school, I've spent a lot of my time this first semester teaching him how to study. Hopefully, his semester grades will reflect that improvement. It won't matter to this teacher, however, because he's already made up his mind.
2. If you want to be considered a professional, then act more like a professional. The author writes: Teachers are generally highly trained professionals with a deep understanding of the content they teach and the instructional methods to make that content approachable for students of different ability levels. That may be true, but today's professional world operates via e-mail and cell phones and the Internet. These communication tools are your friends and could simplify organizing everything from scheduling parent-teacher conferences to alerting parents of missed assignments or informing parents of marked improvement. If you really want to turn off a parent, just tell them at open house that you, "Don't do e-mail." The rest of the world does, so suck it up and get with the program. And please respond in a timely manner. Perception is reality. When parents hear that union renegotiations revolve around the squabbling over parking spaces or the resistance to extending the school day, it's hard to feel any sympathy for teachers as "professionals." I once sat in a staff meeting in which the teachers complained about having to "dress professional." If you want to be considered "professionals" then consider losing the blue-collar mentality.
3. Is it really about the kids? There are plenty of incredibly dedicated teachers who routinely go above and beyond for their students. I wish there were more. Building off of points one and two, there are a number of teachers who just want to shut their doors and do what they've been doing for 20-plus years. Education, like everything else around us, is evolving. Teachers need to be evolving with the times. Keep it relevant, refresh your skills often and recognize that the way you've been teaching may not work for all or may not work anymore. It's scary, I'm sure, but all professionals face scary industry changes at one time or another.
4. Let's be honest with one another about testing. I'm grateful to have a teacher who wants to do so much to improve my third-grader's reading. But I also recognize that what's driving that need is his low reading test score. Give parents a little credit for knowing their children. I do have a son who struggles in reading and I know what that looks like. I also have a son who can't stand taking tests when it's 90 degrees outside and 95 degrees in his classroom, like it was in early September when they took their first OAT. Let's just say that his attention span is impaired under those conditions. When I got a call the week of Thanksgiving break about giving him one more test, I suggested that wouldn't be an optimal time for testing. Hopefully, his teacher listened to my suggestion. My son is reading well, much better than his older brother did, but he is also lazy. I'm sure he didn't pass the proficiency test because he was not engaged in the process. But I recognize that in a district like ours, not passing is not acceptable. It's not acceptable for me either. I'll bet dollars to donuts, that my son skipped entire pages in an effort to just get done with the test. So let's try to keep things in perspective. How is is doing day to day? Is his work acceptable? Does he complete tasks on time and accurately? Is his homework done properly? Is he respectful in class? Does he seem excited about learning? If so, then what are we so worked up about?
5. Give kids the benefit of the doubt. Sure, parents can do a better job of giving teachers the benefit of the doubt, but teachers can also do a better job of giving students the benefit of the doubt. If a child feels he or she is being judged by an adult (whether fairly or not), they will internalize that feeling and as a result will believe that any effort they make will not be recognized because the teacher has already made up his or her mind about what the student is capable of accomplishing. We've all been there. It's highly demoralizing in school and work. Most students arrive on the first day of school ready to learn. If teachers are honest with themselves, then they need to ask how their actions may hinder that enthusiasm or readiness to learn. Do you constantly roll your eyes at your students? Both verbal and nonverbal cues can impair a child's success. Think about it.
I will share an anecdote I observed last year. A boy who had transferred from a Cleveland school to an inner-ring suburban school was quite a handful and while he was a sophomore by rank, he had severe learning issues and read at a third-grade level. He was a gang-banger in Cleveland and wore a house arrest bracelet on his ankle (something he was happy to show off to his classmates). He was disruptive and disrespectful. But I saw him get what he gives.
He was wandering down the hall, well after the tardy bell had rung. He knocked on a classroom door and the teacher said, "You're late. Go get a pass." He stepped back, waited and then knocked again, "I said, you're late. Go get a pass," said the teacher. So the boy casually meandered down the hall and I figured he was good as gone for the rest of the day. A few minutes later, he came back down the hall, pass in hand. He knocked on the door and the teacher said, "You're late. You can't come in." At this point, he started yelling, "I got a pass. You told me to get a pass and I got a pass." He created a scene, security arrived and he was escorted off the premises for unruly conduct. But I felt sorry for him. Because he did what he was told and he was punished for it. How could that teacher, clearly highly annoyed with this student, have altered her behavior to turn that situation into a positive experience?
6. Admit your mistakes. We all make mistakes in life. Don't act as if it never occurs in your classroom. If you mishandled a situation with a student, then let the parent and student know and apologize. Maybe you didn't sleep well the night before and were short-tempered. That's understandable. We all can relate. But don't brush over your mistakes as if they never happened. This extends to administrators as well, particularly those responsible for discipline. Encourage your students (particularly at the high school level) to hang on to their graded work to make sure that all grades have been recorded accurately. Let them know that you're not perfect and that retaining the work will ensure all grades are recorded properly.
7. Recognize your teaching biases and learn how to adapt to unfamiliar territory. I once had a middle school teacher tell me that she just didn't get boys. Of course, I laughed, but I stopped when I realized that she was serious. My son had told me that she didn't like the boys (believe me, teachers, they feel it no matter how hard you may try to hide it), but I just chalked that up to his exaggerations. I told her that boys really were not that complicated. But with her face wrinkled up, I could tell she was really struggling with how to reach them and how to handle them. She was very young and I'm sure only a year or two into teaching. I don't know if this is the case, but I'm guessing she had no brothers and really had no exposure to 13-year-old boys. That's fine, then take some workshops and get some professional development to learn strategies for teaching boys. Otherwise, 50 percent of your student population is not adequately being served. Administrators and veteran teachers need to encourage newer teachers in this area, especially during those critical middle school years when boys are more likely to disengage from learning.
8. The boy bias. This is related to the above and probably worthy of its own lengthy post. My oldest son was in first grade when I first heard the anti-boy bias in education. He was in Catholic school at the time and I just assumed it was a problem there. But as experience has shown, the anti-boy bias (as evidenced in point number seven) exists everywhere. Teachers are always going to play favorites, but again I would say: Recognize your biases, get training and development when you need it and be honest with yourself and parents about how you struggle. Maybe parents can offer suggestions for how to help.
9. We all work hard. I was remarking recently about how one of the administrators in our district is always at the school. Some may look at that as dedication, but it makes me wonder whether or not work is being done in an efficient manner. Is it necessary to stay until 9 p.m.? I've heard teachers routinely say how hard their job is and how hard they work. I don't doubt that for one minute. But I will say that most working people work hard, it's not a character trait reserved solely for educators.
10. Giving thanks. Teachers have tremendous power and influence over our children. I am so thankful for the job they do. Parents can do a better job of thanking them. But it's hard when the relationship is such that the first thing you hear is what your child is NOT doing. Of course we're going to be advocates for our kids. If we aren't, who will? But if we feel less adversarial and more collaborative with teachers, that message of thanks will come through loud and clear.
11. If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times. Certain information bears repeating. Certain information bears repeating. From age 16 on down, students need to be reminded of deadlines for projects or that test preparation information is on the Web or that hall passes are required to attend special study sessions. I'd like to believe I could tell my kids to do something once and it magically gets done. But that is not true. Similarly, students do not—upon entering high school—automatically possess study skills or organization skills. These are developed and nurtured over time and the steady encouragement of and practical suggestions in this area would be greatly appreciated. Now, I also believe that sophomores, juniors and seniors need to be responsible for their work and their academic responsibilities. It's called being resourceful. But freshmen need that transition year and the support it requires in order to become resourceful.
However, I've also realized as a parent with a kid in high school, middle school and elementary school, where there's room to push and room to grow. I've frankly been around plenty of teachers who hide from parents and plenty of others who simply lack the ability to communicate one-on-one. They are great standing in front of a classroom of kids or parents, but have no idea how to talk to them as individuals.
So of course I was interested in this piece in Education Week about improving communications between parents and teachers. The author's points about teachers recognizing that parents are partners is critical and, by and large, I think most teachers do recognize the partnership.
But there are expanded ways that teachers can improve such a partnership.
1. Resist the urge (no matter how tempting) to stereotype or judge a student. Teachers can be incredibly close-minded and quick to judge. There is nothing quite so infuriating to a parent as listening to a teacher say, "Has he ever been tested for ADD?" or "He's more an athlete than a scholar." If you teach 8- and 9-year-olds then you should know that little boys and probably little girls of that age tend to be a bit wiggly, especially when they are overheated in a stifling classroom, packed in like sardines and deprived of their outdoor recess because of inclement weather. Use your head before making such statements. I'm sure there are children who do suffer from ADD, but I also think that educators must accept some of the blame in pushing the over-diagnosis and medication of young people for attention disorders. One of the first grade teachers at my older boys' elementary school was famous for her diagnosis of ADD or ADHD among nearly every boy she taught.
As to the second comment: That was shared with me by my freshman son's favorite teacher at parent-teacher conferences. I wouldn't dare tell him how this teacher really feels because my son worships him and has aspirations of being a teacher himself. Apparently, eight weeks into his high school career he has already earned the label of "dumb jock." Never mind that up to that point he had never received lower than a B on a report card or that his Ohio Achievement Test scores show that he scores advanced in reading and science and accelerated in social studies. Because he was never taught study skills in middle school, I've spent a lot of my time this first semester teaching him how to study. Hopefully, his semester grades will reflect that improvement. It won't matter to this teacher, however, because he's already made up his mind.
2. If you want to be considered a professional, then act more like a professional. The author writes: Teachers are generally highly trained professionals with a deep understanding of the content they teach and the instructional methods to make that content approachable for students of different ability levels. That may be true, but today's professional world operates via e-mail and cell phones and the Internet. These communication tools are your friends and could simplify organizing everything from scheduling parent-teacher conferences to alerting parents of missed assignments or informing parents of marked improvement. If you really want to turn off a parent, just tell them at open house that you, "Don't do e-mail." The rest of the world does, so suck it up and get with the program. And please respond in a timely manner. Perception is reality. When parents hear that union renegotiations revolve around the squabbling over parking spaces or the resistance to extending the school day, it's hard to feel any sympathy for teachers as "professionals." I once sat in a staff meeting in which the teachers complained about having to "dress professional." If you want to be considered "professionals" then consider losing the blue-collar mentality.
3. Is it really about the kids? There are plenty of incredibly dedicated teachers who routinely go above and beyond for their students. I wish there were more. Building off of points one and two, there are a number of teachers who just want to shut their doors and do what they've been doing for 20-plus years. Education, like everything else around us, is evolving. Teachers need to be evolving with the times. Keep it relevant, refresh your skills often and recognize that the way you've been teaching may not work for all or may not work anymore. It's scary, I'm sure, but all professionals face scary industry changes at one time or another.
4. Let's be honest with one another about testing. I'm grateful to have a teacher who wants to do so much to improve my third-grader's reading. But I also recognize that what's driving that need is his low reading test score. Give parents a little credit for knowing their children. I do have a son who struggles in reading and I know what that looks like. I also have a son who can't stand taking tests when it's 90 degrees outside and 95 degrees in his classroom, like it was in early September when they took their first OAT. Let's just say that his attention span is impaired under those conditions. When I got a call the week of Thanksgiving break about giving him one more test, I suggested that wouldn't be an optimal time for testing. Hopefully, his teacher listened to my suggestion. My son is reading well, much better than his older brother did, but he is also lazy. I'm sure he didn't pass the proficiency test because he was not engaged in the process. But I recognize that in a district like ours, not passing is not acceptable. It's not acceptable for me either. I'll bet dollars to donuts, that my son skipped entire pages in an effort to just get done with the test. So let's try to keep things in perspective. How is is doing day to day? Is his work acceptable? Does he complete tasks on time and accurately? Is his homework done properly? Is he respectful in class? Does he seem excited about learning? If so, then what are we so worked up about?
5. Give kids the benefit of the doubt. Sure, parents can do a better job of giving teachers the benefit of the doubt, but teachers can also do a better job of giving students the benefit of the doubt. If a child feels he or she is being judged by an adult (whether fairly or not), they will internalize that feeling and as a result will believe that any effort they make will not be recognized because the teacher has already made up his or her mind about what the student is capable of accomplishing. We've all been there. It's highly demoralizing in school and work. Most students arrive on the first day of school ready to learn. If teachers are honest with themselves, then they need to ask how their actions may hinder that enthusiasm or readiness to learn. Do you constantly roll your eyes at your students? Both verbal and nonverbal cues can impair a child's success. Think about it.
I will share an anecdote I observed last year. A boy who had transferred from a Cleveland school to an inner-ring suburban school was quite a handful and while he was a sophomore by rank, he had severe learning issues and read at a third-grade level. He was a gang-banger in Cleveland and wore a house arrest bracelet on his ankle (something he was happy to show off to his classmates). He was disruptive and disrespectful. But I saw him get what he gives.
He was wandering down the hall, well after the tardy bell had rung. He knocked on a classroom door and the teacher said, "You're late. Go get a pass." He stepped back, waited and then knocked again, "I said, you're late. Go get a pass," said the teacher. So the boy casually meandered down the hall and I figured he was good as gone for the rest of the day. A few minutes later, he came back down the hall, pass in hand. He knocked on the door and the teacher said, "You're late. You can't come in." At this point, he started yelling, "I got a pass. You told me to get a pass and I got a pass." He created a scene, security arrived and he was escorted off the premises for unruly conduct. But I felt sorry for him. Because he did what he was told and he was punished for it. How could that teacher, clearly highly annoyed with this student, have altered her behavior to turn that situation into a positive experience?
6. Admit your mistakes. We all make mistakes in life. Don't act as if it never occurs in your classroom. If you mishandled a situation with a student, then let the parent and student know and apologize. Maybe you didn't sleep well the night before and were short-tempered. That's understandable. We all can relate. But don't brush over your mistakes as if they never happened. This extends to administrators as well, particularly those responsible for discipline. Encourage your students (particularly at the high school level) to hang on to their graded work to make sure that all grades have been recorded accurately. Let them know that you're not perfect and that retaining the work will ensure all grades are recorded properly.
7. Recognize your teaching biases and learn how to adapt to unfamiliar territory. I once had a middle school teacher tell me that she just didn't get boys. Of course, I laughed, but I stopped when I realized that she was serious. My son had told me that she didn't like the boys (believe me, teachers, they feel it no matter how hard you may try to hide it), but I just chalked that up to his exaggerations. I told her that boys really were not that complicated. But with her face wrinkled up, I could tell she was really struggling with how to reach them and how to handle them. She was very young and I'm sure only a year or two into teaching. I don't know if this is the case, but I'm guessing she had no brothers and really had no exposure to 13-year-old boys. That's fine, then take some workshops and get some professional development to learn strategies for teaching boys. Otherwise, 50 percent of your student population is not adequately being served. Administrators and veteran teachers need to encourage newer teachers in this area, especially during those critical middle school years when boys are more likely to disengage from learning.
8. The boy bias. This is related to the above and probably worthy of its own lengthy post. My oldest son was in first grade when I first heard the anti-boy bias in education. He was in Catholic school at the time and I just assumed it was a problem there. But as experience has shown, the anti-boy bias (as evidenced in point number seven) exists everywhere. Teachers are always going to play favorites, but again I would say: Recognize your biases, get training and development when you need it and be honest with yourself and parents about how you struggle. Maybe parents can offer suggestions for how to help.
9. We all work hard. I was remarking recently about how one of the administrators in our district is always at the school. Some may look at that as dedication, but it makes me wonder whether or not work is being done in an efficient manner. Is it necessary to stay until 9 p.m.? I've heard teachers routinely say how hard their job is and how hard they work. I don't doubt that for one minute. But I will say that most working people work hard, it's not a character trait reserved solely for educators.
10. Giving thanks. Teachers have tremendous power and influence over our children. I am so thankful for the job they do. Parents can do a better job of thanking them. But it's hard when the relationship is such that the first thing you hear is what your child is NOT doing. Of course we're going to be advocates for our kids. If we aren't, who will? But if we feel less adversarial and more collaborative with teachers, that message of thanks will come through loud and clear.
11. If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times. Certain information bears repeating. Certain information bears repeating. From age 16 on down, students need to be reminded of deadlines for projects or that test preparation information is on the Web or that hall passes are required to attend special study sessions. I'd like to believe I could tell my kids to do something once and it magically gets done. But that is not true. Similarly, students do not—upon entering high school—automatically possess study skills or organization skills. These are developed and nurtured over time and the steady encouragement of and practical suggestions in this area would be greatly appreciated. Now, I also believe that sophomores, juniors and seniors need to be responsible for their work and their academic responsibilities. It's called being resourceful. But freshmen need that transition year and the support it requires in order to become resourceful.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Giving thanks this week
Everyone once in a while I go through these extended work frenzies. Today, I emerge from a six-week-long period of hibernation and extended work. The fruits of that labor are just being revealed here and in publications. Some are still to come, others are a bit longer in the making, but I'm having fun with it all.
I hope you'll take a moment to see the updates I've made to the right margin. I've added some newer work there and a new category for the editing I'm doing these days. The NCAA Women's Final Four wrap-up book will be ready later this week, so I'll post about that on Monday. The Catalyst-Ohio editing work has been very rewarding. A trial editing assignment for the magazine has turned into a steady flow of work for the next few months.
In the spirit of the holiday, let me say I'm so thankful for the work I'm able to do—a real mix of things for love and money.
Time for friends
On Monday night, Dan and I met up with two of his good pals from college. I told him just to go and enjoy (Monday nights are crazy at our house), but they asked to see me, too. So I went along and was so glad I did. We had a great time with lots of laughs.
Bevy of birthdays
Thanksgiving is synonymous with birthdays in our house. My niece, Natalie, turns 5 tomorrow. On the Hoke side, my nephew Ted will be 16 next week and my niece Mary will be 15. And, of course, my own Ry Guy turns 15 on Friday. All of them have taken turns sharing their birthday with Thanksgiving.
Fifteen—yikes! Seems like yesterday. We'll be celebrating his birthday on the basketball court. Ryan opens his freshman basketball season at home against North Olmsted on Friday. It's a triple-header at Bay (with JV and varsity to follow). He's starting power forward. While he's not as big a fan of basketball as he is of football, he's just glad to be competing again after missing his entire football season to a broken collarbone.
Ryan was born under a football star. I went into labor with him on the day of the OSU/Michigan game. Danny had a bunch of buddies over to our Rocky River duplex for the game and his famous chili. I knew something was happening, but didn't want to alarm him out of his football reverie.
We wound up at the hospital around 4 the next morning. That Sunday was the Browns/Steelers game. Ryan took his sweet time in arriving—23 hours. He was a big boy—9 pounds, 14 ounces, 21 inches long born on his due date. He's still a big boy at 6' 1", though he's quite lanky these days. He's counting down until he can hit the weight room in March, giving up lacrosse in the spring, which he really loved to play, to prepare for football.
Oh how time does fly.
Happy Birthday, Ry! I'm so proud to be your mom.
I hope you'll take a moment to see the updates I've made to the right margin. I've added some newer work there and a new category for the editing I'm doing these days. The NCAA Women's Final Four wrap-up book will be ready later this week, so I'll post about that on Monday. The Catalyst-Ohio editing work has been very rewarding. A trial editing assignment for the magazine has turned into a steady flow of work for the next few months.
In the spirit of the holiday, let me say I'm so thankful for the work I'm able to do—a real mix of things for love and money.
Time for friends
On Monday night, Dan and I met up with two of his good pals from college. I told him just to go and enjoy (Monday nights are crazy at our house), but they asked to see me, too. So I went along and was so glad I did. We had a great time with lots of laughs.
Bevy of birthdays
Thanksgiving is synonymous with birthdays in our house. My niece, Natalie, turns 5 tomorrow. On the Hoke side, my nephew Ted will be 16 next week and my niece Mary will be 15. And, of course, my own Ry Guy turns 15 on Friday. All of them have taken turns sharing their birthday with Thanksgiving.
Fifteen—yikes! Seems like yesterday. We'll be celebrating his birthday on the basketball court. Ryan opens his freshman basketball season at home against North Olmsted on Friday. It's a triple-header at Bay (with JV and varsity to follow). He's starting power forward. While he's not as big a fan of basketball as he is of football, he's just glad to be competing again after missing his entire football season to a broken collarbone.
Ryan was born under a football star. I went into labor with him on the day of the OSU/Michigan game. Danny had a bunch of buddies over to our Rocky River duplex for the game and his famous chili. I knew something was happening, but didn't want to alarm him out of his football reverie.
We wound up at the hospital around 4 the next morning. That Sunday was the Browns/Steelers game. Ryan took his sweet time in arriving—23 hours. He was a big boy—9 pounds, 14 ounces, 21 inches long born on his due date. He's still a big boy at 6' 1", though he's quite lanky these days. He's counting down until he can hit the weight room in March, giving up lacrosse in the spring, which he really loved to play, to prepare for football.
Oh how time does fly.
Happy Birthday, Ry! I'm so proud to be your mom.
Friday, October 12, 2007
It's only football, right?
When we walked into the Westlake offices of Orthopedic Associates yesterday, there was a football player and his parents in front of us. Ryan smiled and nodded to the kid and said, "Hey."
"What's up?" he said, nodding back.
As Ryan explained to me after we checked in, he was the freshmen QB for Fairview who also broke his collarbone at about the same time as Ryan. He knows this because Bay played Fairview last week and the two injured QBs had the chance to chat at games on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. They shared their mutual frustration at missing their first high school season.
It's been eight weeks since Ryan broke his collarbone. Back in August, this was the week we envisioned him coming back. But time and healing changes your perspective somewhat and we went into this appointment knowing that it was unlikely he would get clearance to return to play.
Ryan was OK with that. We talked a lot about how he plays with an intensity that could put himself at greater risk of re-fracturing. Although it's not his throwing arm, we worried about him running with the ball because he lowers his left shoulder when delivering a pop (he has a tendency to run through people instead of around them, a remnant of his early years of playing fullback).
With basketball season approaching, we just couldn't risk him losing another season. Ryan is a competitor and he needs to have a healthy, constructive outlet for that competitiveness. I certainly can't have him coming home after school all winter and torturing his younger brothers because he's pissed he can't play.
The doctor praised him for his mature decision and then showed us the progression of x-rays to see how he's healing. Since the fracture was so severe, the bones are not joined end to end, but instead overlap with new bone forming all around the break. The latest x-ray showed a good amount of new bone healing the injury. It looks good, but not good enough to take the contact of football.
He got the clearance to attend open gyms and prepare for basketball. He continues his lifting/rehab program in the weight room and he cheers his teammates from the sideline.
But that didn't make coming home after the freshmen game last night any easier. "This is the game I was supposed to come back," he said. "I can't believe I'm missing the whole season."
Neither can we, but we know it's for the best.
While this has been a life lesson for Ryan, it has also been a good one for Danny and I as well. Football isn't everything, we certainly know that, but it means so much to him and he works so hard at it. There's really no way you can effectively play the game unless you are committed 110 percent. It requires so much of players and takes even more from them.
We cheer for the team with great enthusiasm, but it isn't the same. I watch him from the stands as he carries footballs under each arm like a security blanket. I watch his mood shift from elation to frustration and back again. He pats teammates on the shoulder, fills water bottles and high-fives players when they've made a great play. He paces the sideline and in his restlessness I know he would give his left kidney to be out on that field. Sometimes I think I can will him recovered.
But I can't.
It's hard to be helpless, but we're trying to keep it all in perspective. It's only football. He's otherwise healthy, doing well in school, has good friends and is a good kid.
Last night, Danny finally put words to what I've been feeling, "I just miss watching him play." Me, too.
"What's up?" he said, nodding back.
As Ryan explained to me after we checked in, he was the freshmen QB for Fairview who also broke his collarbone at about the same time as Ryan. He knows this because Bay played Fairview last week and the two injured QBs had the chance to chat at games on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. They shared their mutual frustration at missing their first high school season.
It's been eight weeks since Ryan broke his collarbone. Back in August, this was the week we envisioned him coming back. But time and healing changes your perspective somewhat and we went into this appointment knowing that it was unlikely he would get clearance to return to play.
Ryan was OK with that. We talked a lot about how he plays with an intensity that could put himself at greater risk of re-fracturing. Although it's not his throwing arm, we worried about him running with the ball because he lowers his left shoulder when delivering a pop (he has a tendency to run through people instead of around them, a remnant of his early years of playing fullback).
With basketball season approaching, we just couldn't risk him losing another season. Ryan is a competitor and he needs to have a healthy, constructive outlet for that competitiveness. I certainly can't have him coming home after school all winter and torturing his younger brothers because he's pissed he can't play.
The doctor praised him for his mature decision and then showed us the progression of x-rays to see how he's healing. Since the fracture was so severe, the bones are not joined end to end, but instead overlap with new bone forming all around the break. The latest x-ray showed a good amount of new bone healing the injury. It looks good, but not good enough to take the contact of football.
He got the clearance to attend open gyms and prepare for basketball. He continues his lifting/rehab program in the weight room and he cheers his teammates from the sideline.
But that didn't make coming home after the freshmen game last night any easier. "This is the game I was supposed to come back," he said. "I can't believe I'm missing the whole season."
Neither can we, but we know it's for the best.
While this has been a life lesson for Ryan, it has also been a good one for Danny and I as well. Football isn't everything, we certainly know that, but it means so much to him and he works so hard at it. There's really no way you can effectively play the game unless you are committed 110 percent. It requires so much of players and takes even more from them.
We cheer for the team with great enthusiasm, but it isn't the same. I watch him from the stands as he carries footballs under each arm like a security blanket. I watch his mood shift from elation to frustration and back again. He pats teammates on the shoulder, fills water bottles and high-fives players when they've made a great play. He paces the sideline and in his restlessness I know he would give his left kidney to be out on that field. Sometimes I think I can will him recovered.
But I can't.
It's hard to be helpless, but we're trying to keep it all in perspective. It's only football. He's otherwise healthy, doing well in school, has good friends and is a good kid.
Last night, Danny finally put words to what I've been feeling, "I just miss watching him play." Me, too.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Sloppy sports reporting
I'm delighted to see The Plain Dealer devoting so much space to high school football this morning. But is it too much to ask to get them to spell the names of players correctly? Two of the three Bay High players noted in the West Shore Conference preview are spelled wrong. It's Cale LaRiccia and Brian Harrell (not Cale LeRiccia and Brian Herrall).
This isn't limited to the PD sports guys. The West Shore Sun today also has a story about Bay's new head coach and new turf field. In it, Dale Meggas, whom I worked with while I was a reporter at Sun from 1990-95, references senior leader Jon Rieke and in the next paragraph refers to him as Reinke.
Come on, guys! Get it together. These players work hard and the least you can do if you're going to single them out among the thousands of players is to spell their name correctly.
In my sophomore year reporting class at Ohio University J-School, misspelling a word in an assignment was an automatic C; misspelling someone's name was an automatic F.
This isn't limited to the PD sports guys. The West Shore Sun today also has a story about Bay's new head coach and new turf field. In it, Dale Meggas, whom I worked with while I was a reporter at Sun from 1990-95, references senior leader Jon Rieke and in the next paragraph refers to him as Reinke.
Come on, guys! Get it together. These players work hard and the least you can do if you're going to single them out among the thousands of players is to spell their name correctly.
In my sophomore year reporting class at Ohio University J-School, misspelling a word in an assignment was an automatic C; misspelling someone's name was an automatic F.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Creative Ink hits PD Blog 5
Thanks to the PD Blog 5 for feeling that an all-too-common story about a teenager dealing with disappointment is worthy of attention by its readers.
Of course, a hat tip goes to Jill for even bringing to my attention.
Ryan managed his first scrimmage from the sidelines on Friday. It was tough, but he did what he could to support his teammates, especially since there were only 15 able-bodied freshmen able to dress. He's more determined than ever to come back strong.
One week down -- seven more to go.
Of course, a hat tip goes to Jill for even bringing to my attention.
Ryan managed his first scrimmage from the sidelines on Friday. It was tough, but he did what he could to support his teammates, especially since there were only 15 able-bodied freshmen able to dress. He's more determined than ever to come back strong.
One week down -- seven more to go.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Are boys adrift?
From time to time, I've touched on the issue of boys and education, so I was interested when my neighbor mentioned Diane Rehm's interview with Dr. Leonard Sax.
Sax is author of Boys Adrift: The Five Factors Driving the Growing Epidemic of Unmotivated Boys and Underachieving Young Men.
He lists those five factors as:
Video Games
Teaching Methods
Prescription Drugs
Edocrine Disruptors
Devaluation of Masculinity
I'm not sure what to think of all his theories, but I'm interested enough after hearing Diane's program to read his book. Fortunately, my sons have never been medicated. They tend to go in spurts with video games (like now, for instance). I've decided to unplug the Xbox for the remainder of the week, mostly because the weather is cooling off and they need to be outside until school starts on the 27th.
But the reading thing really hits home.
All summer long I've struggled with getting my three boys to read. Ryan has two books he must read by the start of school. I know he'll do it, he's always been an advanced reader, but it makes me sad that he doesn't just pick something up on his own.
Patrick has struggled all along with reading. However, through an incredible intervention program he participated in last school year, he raised his reading level two grade levels. When I got the results, I called the district reading specialist to make sure I was reading the results accurately. She replied:
I'm a big believer in letting the kids have a break in the summer, of letting them just play and cruise town on their bikes and organize whiffle ball games and—yes—football games.
But as school gets ready to start, I can't shake the feeling that maybe I should have insisted they do more to keep up their skills. I just don't know. But I'm going to pick up Sax's book and see what he has to say on the matter.
Sax is author of Boys Adrift: The Five Factors Driving the Growing Epidemic of Unmotivated Boys and Underachieving Young Men.
He lists those five factors as:
Video Games
Teaching Methods
Prescription Drugs
Edocrine Disruptors
Devaluation of Masculinity
I'm not sure what to think of all his theories, but I'm interested enough after hearing Diane's program to read his book. Fortunately, my sons have never been medicated. They tend to go in spurts with video games (like now, for instance). I've decided to unplug the Xbox for the remainder of the week, mostly because the weather is cooling off and they need to be outside until school starts on the 27th.
But the reading thing really hits home.
All summer long I've struggled with getting my three boys to read. Ryan has two books he must read by the start of school. I know he'll do it, he's always been an advanced reader, but it makes me sad that he doesn't just pick something up on his own.
Patrick has struggled all along with reading. However, through an incredible intervention program he participated in last school year, he raised his reading level two grade levels. When I got the results, I called the district reading specialist to make sure I was reading the results accurately. She replied:
Mrs. Hoke, Thank you for your phone call. Yes, Patrick’s results are dramatic! Congratulations on his wonderful progress! Let me know if you have any questions.Michael picked up reading very quickly and with seemingly little effort on my part. But I realize as he starts third grade, I need to spend the time with him, nurturing that love of reading. Not to offer up any excuses, but sometimes as parents we just lose steam.
I'm a big believer in letting the kids have a break in the summer, of letting them just play and cruise town on their bikes and organize whiffle ball games and—yes—football games.
But as school gets ready to start, I can't shake the feeling that maybe I should have insisted they do more to keep up their skills. I just don't know. But I'm going to pick up Sax's book and see what he has to say on the matter.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Life's first big disappointment
When my oldest son Ryan was very young, maybe four, we had taken a bike ride at this time of year and cut through the high school. The football team was in the middle of two-a-days practice.
Ryan stopped his little silver bike and jumped off to watch. In the treeline that ran alongside the practice field, he juked and spun around trees pretending they were defenders and mirroring the moves of the big guys on the field. Cradled in his arms was his imaginary football.
Seems like yesterday to me. Today he is a 6-foot freshman who has spent every morning this summer out on that field or in the weight room—conditioning, lifting, working on agility drills, throwing the football with receivers, muscling through two-a-days. He woke up at six every morning to get there early.
Waiting even a few weeks to get back to the sport he loves is like asking him to give up eating. He got an early taste of what was to come this season last Saturday in a scrimmage. He took a few snaps at QB for the JV team. Still on his morning high, he was goofing around in the yard that evening with a bunch of neighborhood guys.
Ryan was running with the ball, was tackled from behind, lost his footing and fell on his shoulder. Rather than drop the ball to break his fall with his hands, he held onto the ball, fell and broke his left clavicle. He knew it the instant it happened.
Disappointment builds character. When I saw the x-ray, showing that his collarbone wasn't just broken, it was displaced—badly, I knew we were in for challenging few weeks. The bones weren't even touching. My heart sank. He worked so hard this summer, giving up sleep and downtime to work on his passion. In one instant, it was snapped away.
Yesterday was our first visit to the orthopedic and confirmation that it will be eight weeks before he can return. That gives him the possibility of maybe playing in the last three games of the season, provided it heals well.
The good news is that he's young, still growing and will not need surgery. The collarbone heals well with no real residual issues. It's his non-dominant side (not his throwing arm) so that's even better news.
But there was only one thing Ryan heard yesterday—No football for eight weeks.
He looked at me once the doctor left the room with tears in his eyes and said, "Mom, I can't play for eights weeks?"
It sucks. It sucks when you work so hard for something only to see it snatched away in an instant. The tackle was an accident and we had warned him and the neighbor kids many times to play touch, not tackle for just this reason.
"I'm such an idiot! I let the team down," Ryan said.
He was bummed big-time when we got home. Not even three junior bacon cheeseburgers could change his mood. But after a while, his buddy Jake came over and having his friend (and right tackle) hanging around cheered him up. Grandma stopped over on her way home from work. Then a few of the seniors stopped by with wings from BW3. The phone started ringing as news spread. I was amazed by the support, particularly from the senior parents, in letting us know that he would get through this—that we all would get through this.
Their advice was so good. Get him back up to practice, tell him to ask the coaches to give him a job to do. There's much to learn about football just from watching how the linemen move, seeing how decisions are made, watching how the older players handle situations and just being around his friends.
Today is a new day. Ryan is still devastated that he can't play for a while. But he woke this morning, asked for some help getting cleaned up and had his dad drive him up to practice.
Sure he's disappointed, but he's a competitor and this is about his team. And he's not going to miss out on helping and supporting his teammates no matter how badly he feels about himself.
Ryan stopped his little silver bike and jumped off to watch. In the treeline that ran alongside the practice field, he juked and spun around trees pretending they were defenders and mirroring the moves of the big guys on the field. Cradled in his arms was his imaginary football.
Seems like yesterday to me. Today he is a 6-foot freshman who has spent every morning this summer out on that field or in the weight room—conditioning, lifting, working on agility drills, throwing the football with receivers, muscling through two-a-days. He woke up at six every morning to get there early.
Waiting even a few weeks to get back to the sport he loves is like asking him to give up eating. He got an early taste of what was to come this season last Saturday in a scrimmage. He took a few snaps at QB for the JV team. Still on his morning high, he was goofing around in the yard that evening with a bunch of neighborhood guys.
Ryan was running with the ball, was tackled from behind, lost his footing and fell on his shoulder. Rather than drop the ball to break his fall with his hands, he held onto the ball, fell and broke his left clavicle. He knew it the instant it happened.
Disappointment builds character. When I saw the x-ray, showing that his collarbone wasn't just broken, it was displaced—badly, I knew we were in for challenging few weeks. The bones weren't even touching. My heart sank. He worked so hard this summer, giving up sleep and downtime to work on his passion. In one instant, it was snapped away.
Yesterday was our first visit to the orthopedic and confirmation that it will be eight weeks before he can return. That gives him the possibility of maybe playing in the last three games of the season, provided it heals well.
The good news is that he's young, still growing and will not need surgery. The collarbone heals well with no real residual issues. It's his non-dominant side (not his throwing arm) so that's even better news.
But there was only one thing Ryan heard yesterday—No football for eight weeks.
He looked at me once the doctor left the room with tears in his eyes and said, "Mom, I can't play for eights weeks?"
It sucks. It sucks when you work so hard for something only to see it snatched away in an instant. The tackle was an accident and we had warned him and the neighbor kids many times to play touch, not tackle for just this reason.
"I'm such an idiot! I let the team down," Ryan said.
He was bummed big-time when we got home. Not even three junior bacon cheeseburgers could change his mood. But after a while, his buddy Jake came over and having his friend (and right tackle) hanging around cheered him up. Grandma stopped over on her way home from work. Then a few of the seniors stopped by with wings from BW3. The phone started ringing as news spread. I was amazed by the support, particularly from the senior parents, in letting us know that he would get through this—that we all would get through this.
Their advice was so good. Get him back up to practice, tell him to ask the coaches to give him a job to do. There's much to learn about football just from watching how the linemen move, seeing how decisions are made, watching how the older players handle situations and just being around his friends.
Today is a new day. Ryan is still devastated that he can't play for a while. But he woke this morning, asked for some help getting cleaned up and had his dad drive him up to practice.
Sure he's disappointed, but he's a competitor and this is about his team. And he's not going to miss out on helping and supporting his teammates no matter how badly he feels about himself.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Superheroes in the freezer
Maybe you need to have boys to appreciate the humor of this piece in Christian Science Monitor. But I laughed out loud, picturing the Office of the Director, Family Intelligence Agency (er, Mom) opening a leftover container to find a headless Han Solo action figure mixed in with the meatloaf. Boys! Sheesh! Reminds me of The supercollider in my basement.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
My favorite animated character...
...is Carl Wheezer from Nickelodeon's, "Jimmy Neutron." While chilling during lunch today, the boys flipped to Nick for a dose of Carl, who was heard to tell his class:
"...And that's why you should never feed llamas pancakes."
I mean seriously, who thinks of this stuff? I love it! If you don't think Carl is a pop culture phenom, then check out his Wiki page. There's way more depth to this character than the lead.
It's not just what Carl says, but his inflection that makes him hilarious.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Settling into another summer
There's typically such a whirlwind of activity that accompanies the end of a school year that it takes a few weeks to settle into something resembling a routine.
We're getting there ... slowly.
My work schedule has been hectic with several big writing deadlines and lots of pitching. But, as I've done in the past, I hit my desk at 6 a.m. and try to finish up by 1.
Two out of my three boys were grounded for the first weekend. One for being tardy for dinner (I know that's harsh, but I need to lay down the law right out of the gate.), the other for a solo adventure to catch frogs from a retention basin at a nearby park. Although it sounds as if it was a harmless little-boy adventure, I'm afraid I panicked at the thought of him either A) being abducted from a secluded park; or B) falling headfirst into the rather large retention basin.
I'm not anti-park and I do allow him to play at one closer to our house, but this one is isolated and there are always contractor vans parked in the lot with dudes probably (harmlessly) eating lunch. My protective Mama Bear instinct just doesn't want to chance it with my little guy.
So expectations for checking in, arriving home in time for dinner (I'm a huge proponent of family dinner time.) and being responsible for chores and things have been clearly set and, so far, followed.
My older two boys have been hounding me about cell phones. Ryan had one until he was pushed into a friend's pool in early May with his cell in his pocket. Of course it's toast. But I told him I wanted to see his year-end report card before we talked new phone. Plus I was utterly agitated at the teenager expectation that all things, regardless of cost, get instantly replaced.
Report cards arrived this week and everything looks good. Now I can deliver on my promise of a new phone or phones. Patrick is something of a nomad this summer, cruising around with his posse on his bike. He's good about telling me where he's going, but not always about where he will end up. So now I'm thinking I may get him a phone as well.
All of these events — kids being grounded, replacing phones, waiting for good grades, etc. — illustrate the challenges of sticking to your guns as a parent. Dan was out of town the first weekend of summer, so I was flying solo. It is certainly a huge pain the neck for me to have two grounded boys sulking around the house.
It would have been easier for me to un-ground them and let them play. And the cell phone issue? Let's just say Ryan not having the phone is more of a pain for me than it is for him, especially given his sports schedule. But I wanted him to know I was serious about ending the school year academically strong.
Point made.
Now if only I can get them to remember to shut the bathroom door when I'm on the phone in my office across the hall...
We're getting there ... slowly.
My work schedule has been hectic with several big writing deadlines and lots of pitching. But, as I've done in the past, I hit my desk at 6 a.m. and try to finish up by 1.
Two out of my three boys were grounded for the first weekend. One for being tardy for dinner (I know that's harsh, but I need to lay down the law right out of the gate.), the other for a solo adventure to catch frogs from a retention basin at a nearby park. Although it sounds as if it was a harmless little-boy adventure, I'm afraid I panicked at the thought of him either A) being abducted from a secluded park; or B) falling headfirst into the rather large retention basin.
I'm not anti-park and I do allow him to play at one closer to our house, but this one is isolated and there are always contractor vans parked in the lot with dudes probably (harmlessly) eating lunch. My protective Mama Bear instinct just doesn't want to chance it with my little guy.
So expectations for checking in, arriving home in time for dinner (I'm a huge proponent of family dinner time.) and being responsible for chores and things have been clearly set and, so far, followed.
My older two boys have been hounding me about cell phones. Ryan had one until he was pushed into a friend's pool in early May with his cell in his pocket. Of course it's toast. But I told him I wanted to see his year-end report card before we talked new phone. Plus I was utterly agitated at the teenager expectation that all things, regardless of cost, get instantly replaced.
Report cards arrived this week and everything looks good. Now I can deliver on my promise of a new phone or phones. Patrick is something of a nomad this summer, cruising around with his posse on his bike. He's good about telling me where he's going, but not always about where he will end up. So now I'm thinking I may get him a phone as well.
All of these events — kids being grounded, replacing phones, waiting for good grades, etc. — illustrate the challenges of sticking to your guns as a parent. Dan was out of town the first weekend of summer, so I was flying solo. It is certainly a huge pain the neck for me to have two grounded boys sulking around the house.
It would have been easier for me to un-ground them and let them play. And the cell phone issue? Let's just say Ryan not having the phone is more of a pain for me than it is for him, especially given his sports schedule. But I wanted him to know I was serious about ending the school year academically strong.
Point made.
Now if only I can get them to remember to shut the bathroom door when I'm on the phone in my office across the hall...
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