Lately, Colin has been asking to go outside and look at the moon before he goes to bed. Some nights it is brilliant and clear, and other nights it is hidden or murky, but either way, he is never disappointed. He seems to have developed an awareness now that the moon is always there, whether we can see it or not. For me, it’s a great metaphor for parenting and opportunity and self-development. 

Like some rogue planet, the further I try to move ahead with my plans and dreams, the more intensely I get pulled back into my family’s orbit. I arrange a work trip, and Colin gets the flu. Then we all get the flu, which seems to pass around for weeks. I sign up for a course and Neve breaks her wrist. I try to start  running again and I am so emotionally spent by the chaos of Dex’s  class that I am on the phone trying to talk it over with other people rather than following my agenda for the day. My mother coughs, and I am a sleepless  wreck. Emotional entanglement always seems to bump me right off course. It’s love, it’s guilt, it’s personality — and some other murky thing I can’t put my finger on.

That murky area, that’s what keeps me going around and around and up and down through all these different orbits. At least I have been doing this long enough to realize the pulls and dips. Sometimes you step back, and sometimes you are in deep. Right now, I am in deep, and I need to pull in tight and collect my energy and strength. That means choices have to be made and things have to go, like the Apollo 13 had to jettison excess cargo in order to make it.  So, I am letting some things go. As fun as it has been to write this blog and share my thoughts, I need to let go of this particular role — at least for now. Other areas of me, and my existence, need my energy and focus right now–more than I need to write about them, I need to nudge them ahead or clarify my responsibility.

But I take a long view and, I always have hope. Like Colin, I hold onto the knowledge that the moon is always there, and I will see it again, even if I can’t see it tonight.

So I thank you all for your interest in reading, and responding. I’m so pleased to have had this opportunity to share my thoughts and connect with all you other footsoldiers out there in the parent battles. Good luck defining and holding on to your own orbits. And may someone in your life offer you the moon. 

All the best,

Andi

Before I was a parent, which is fifteen years ago, I led a very organized, you might even say controlled, life. I could pretty much predict day-to-day what might happen, and I liked it that way. It was safe. It was managed, and it allowed my creativity to soar. Whatever energy I might have expended trying to keep things in check when into my work instead. I hadn’t been a mom very long when the one constant of parenting was made really clear to me: just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, something comes along which blows you sideways. There is no homeostasis whatsoever in my life anymore, and the stupid thing is that I keep expecting it. You’d think by now I’d have copped onto the constant flux, but no.

I can’t take it when Colin wails miserably every single time I leave and come home, yelling at me that he doesn’t like school, he doesn’t like his sitter, he wants MAMA!! 

My mother’s room is flooding and while we try to salvage her papers and the rug, the plumber discovers the heat isn’t working either. I look at her pale face and I would do anything to spare her this problem.

I am out of my mind that Neve fluctuates between needing me to sit right next to her while she draws or does homework and then is so cold to me every morning, snapping at me as I ask her how she slept.

I am upset for hours when a teacher calls from school to say that Dex has still not passed in his project (which I know nothing about) and that he’s asked him repeatedly. I am a wreck when I bring it up to Dex and he starts sobbing, saying he just can’t seem to remember anything these days.

Then I need to settle down and collect myself and work efficiently? I have a theory that the more plugged in you are to your kids’ lives, the harder it is to focus on work. You need to separate and be blissfully unaware of life at home to work well. But maybe that’s just me, I’m so used to being the emotional life raft for this bunch.

They cling to me, they push me away, they want my soothing, they want me to leave them alone, they want me, they don’t. I lie down in bed at night feeling pummeled by the day’s events, and then here comes Tom, wanting me to listen to his strategy for s project or brainstorm over a speech he has to give and if I say I’m tired, he’s hurt.

Who’ll come to my emotional rescue?

I went to two back-to-school nights for Dex and Neve, and as usual, I found myself totally wowed by lots of teachers, and sending mental energy to the few that are clearly just phoning it in. I know I could not do what they do all day, that’s for sure, even though I am a teacher myself. It’s apples and oranges: I deal with concepts and material and intellectual growth. Grammar and junior high teachers expend so much energy trying to keep kids’ attention and behavior managed while also looking out for learning styles and differences and bullies and lord, in some places, even the students’ weight  and health. That’s a lot to ask in 6 hours of underpaid work. 

But I digress.

So I sat there among parents I’ve known for a while, and as I gazed at their faces, I wondered what everyone wanted for their kids. There were a few whose intentions I knew very clearly, ranging from perfection and honors to just getting their kid to pass every class. Most people’s motivations were muddy to me –they said they wanted their child happy and engaged, but we all fall off the wagon and turn into dictators now and then. We want them happy doing whatever it is we have decided is worth doing, yes? I recall how ridiculed I was when I said that I really believed that Dex’s obsession with comic strips was a sort of research–he is always reading and re-reading and drawing them. Who knows, maybe he’ll do something with it? Who am I to judge passions? But that was an easy one: I happen to love comic strips and can see the value in them. But what if it was something I didn’t approve of? It got me thinking about my own motivations and how I can better line up my behavior with my intentions. 

I am inspired by creative people. I always think about Spike Jonze, who is a massively successful director of singular vision — and has very little formal education. He skateboarded and played with video cameras in junior high, and flunked out of high school by the time he was 15. By 17 he had shot music videos and started magazines and, to date, has made a ton of money and earned high respect across genres. Money was never the goal, it was the creation of the idea, the execution of the idea, and the pursuit of a better idea that made him happy– and that, to me, is a formula that last a lifetime.

I’ve been hearing a lot of buzz lately about how nasty junior high is, and how there really is nothing you can do about it. How you have to just throw up your hands and let the bullying happen and they will survive. Are you telling me that we with all the institutions and focus groups and researchers, we still can’t get a handle on adolescent cruelty?  I don’t buy it. I think that is something we tell ourselves and each other because we don’t have methods and strategies to deal with these issues, en masse or individually. It’s feels like a self-fulfilling prophecy, the way we expect 2 year olds to be brutal and teenagers to drink and drive and marriage to be a ball and chain–we expect junior high to be a social test. Maybe we could spend less time expecting teachers to be weight  watchers and empower and pay them to do team-building exercises. Maybe there should be less time spent on geography and more on sociology. They are not learning squat if they are miserable, I think we can all agree on that. There has to be a better way to help these kids through this phase.

I have actually had kids admit to me that they would rather make their parents and teachers angry by being a jerk in school than be bullied. This has got to be a community effort; we can’t just turn our backs in relief because our kids survived the gauntlet. The first step, in my mind, is stop shrugging your shoulders when you hear tales of cruelty amongst kids. It’s 2010 and kids are still getting locked in lockers. Nevermind the myspace/facebook cruelty that is all underground. It is so easy to insult people on the internet; look at the responses on you tube sometime– they are 90 percent foul. Our pop culture swings on mutual insult and foul exchanges. Be brave. See my space for what it is  – social networking tool? it is a social superiority tool –and just say no. Encourage the kids to be in relationships in which they speak face-to-face so they can read cues and understand subtle emotions. We cannot be afraid to teach them that, as Dorothy Day said, “It feels good to be kind to people, and it feels awful to be cruel.”

I have to state upfront that this is a really great problem to have, as far as I am concerned. Meaning, I have choices to make, and I can make them, which is a far cry from the alternative. It has been this tricky dance of whose needs are greatest as I maneuver through my obligations and responsibilities these days. Most women in the “sandwich” generation are like my sister-in-law, who is being torn in two by aging, ill parents in one state and a job and husband in another. She has children, but they are in their twenties and not a day-to-day demand. Which, if there is any blessing in this exhausting scenario, it is that she can go home and collapse if she needs to.

My mother is ill, but at least she lives with me, which makes it much easier–on me, at least, and I think it is easier for her, too. My kids are a constant responsibility, and although my mother is utterly undemanding, she is always on my mind, too. Much like a child, you wonder, did I spend enough time with her today? Does she feel loved? Does she feel lonely? Does she have enough juice, sleep, stimulation? I had to laugh the other day as I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth at midnight, listening to Tom snore: I expend so much energy making sure everyone under this roof has my attention, concern, strength, love and affection and organizational skills. Do any of them wonder if I am getting enough juice? Yeah, right. But see, that’s my problem. The downside of seeming (notice I said seeming) capable and invincible is you teach people to look right past you. And you know, I can’t see that there is anything redeeming about that anymore, especially since it is echoed in my profession. I know people who are emotionally indefatigable, but I am not one of them. I only have so much in reserve every day.

I love having my mother close by. And I think it has been a real gift for both the kids and my mom to live together, as they all adore helping each other out. But I am the lynchpin here, and all summer I wondered how long I can hold out at this pace, especially if I am teaching. I knew I would never regret taking time off from teaching, but I would always regret not being available to my mother. As I stewed over all of this, a gift from the powers that be dropped in my lap. A  job that would allow me a more flexible schedule and the ability to drop everything and help my mother if need be. A job that–and this is the dreamiest part–I do not have to dress for. 

It took me about a minute to decide. My department head was very supportive. I can’t tell you the relief. It took me this long to write about it because, honestly, I kept wondering if it was unreal, and I’d wake up to some horrible message on my voice mail retracting everything.  I feel like someone just hooked me up to oxygen. 

I tell you, these are great problems to have.

Certain things about Colin’s development have been improved by having these older siblings. He is hyper-articulate, knows all the slang, and he knows how to hold an audience — as well as every type of sports equipment.  And he is happy to have any of us do things for him, rather than focusing on mom or dad for meals, baths, bed, etc.  Other things have definitely been sacrificed at the feet of the age range and my available time. The teenager’s emotional angst is way more important to me than what container Col drinks from; the fight Neve had with her best friend that has her sobbing under her bed takes precedence over the fact that Col still sleeps in his crib.

Tom was giving me a hard time about Colin still engaging in “baby” behavior, etc. It’s true, the other two were in beds, toilet trained, said goodbye to sippy cups and naps by 3. And we are closing in on three and none of that has been done.  I listened, and I looked at him, but all I could think was, I can’t get all in a knot about a this stuff when I’ve got an 8th grader who thinks school is truly an ancient system for mind control. It’s like all available channels are tuned to the emotional needs. It’s like the cliche: he won’t go to college with a bottle in his mouth. I  know Colin won’t be in a crib much longer, and I know he’ll get the toilet training thing soon enough. So what if the kid needs to suck on something to comfort himself–heck, I need my tea to make it through the day. I can’t panic about things I know I could control–it’s the stuff I can’t control that makes me worry.

It’s an emotional week for me. Dex and Neve launched into their respective school years, Neve a bundle of excited energy. and Dex hunched under the weight of his backpack already. We had this sort of emotional collison in the car yesterday. I had them both in the car after school, which hardly ever happens, and yesterday was evidence that it isn’t a great idea. Neve bubbled on and on about how great her day was, every detail crucial to her tale, while I watched Dex sink lower and lower into his seat. I could almost hear him thinking, “Enjoy it while it lasts, kid, because pretty soon you’ll be working as hard as I am.”  When I asked him how his day was, he said, “Fine.”

It’s a delicate game, Dex and school. He is so much more than I ever was — more together, wiser, more intelligent — he takes my breath away sometimes. But he is a happy guy, believes we are here to learn to be more humane, and is determined to stay that way. It’s his modus operandi, not something he decided in rebellion, it’s just who he is.  If I was hurdle jumper at his age (like Neve is), he is meandering down a gentle stream.  Whether you are a parent, coach, teacher, friend or relative, he loves and respects you, but he isn’t about to base his self-esteem on  pleasing you. He reminds me of my nephew, who is in his 20’s and just finished grad school. Like Dex, he was totally on the ball and bright and energetic, but you could not convince him there was any value to basically the entire school curriculum. He saw it as busywork: useless, one huge obedience test.  But he did okay, and went to college, where he saw the same busywork reappearing  –until he found a subject he was passionate about and felt relevant to him. And he easily did well in his pursuit of what he loved and had fun learning as much as he could.

What confuses Dex about school– and just proves to me that this boy is completely more evolved than I wll ever be — is the fact that it thinks it is building community when in fact all it does is separate kids into groups and teach them to compete against each other. To him, it is destroying that which it attempts to build.

I  know I am being incredibly, astoundingly controversial here, but I am just going to say it.

I really like my husband. 

There, I got it out. 

I know, I know, it is so much more edgy to moan and complain about your spouse, but I just can’t. A few friends were commenting on how their summer vacations are brutal because they can’t stand being together that much. I am the opposite: the more we are together, the more I remember how much I like him and  want him around. If we spend a lot of time together, it is actually painful when he goes back to being all busy and I am alone with the kids a ton.

So last week, a tearful woman who is struggling with her marriage said to me, “You seem so happy together, how do you do it?” Look, I am no expert but I can tell you four simple things have worked for us after 18 years together:

1. You cannot blame your spouse for your routine unhappiness, boredom or pain. You just can’t. It’s not their job to make you happy. (Notice I said routine; if they are cruel or an addict or sleeping around, that’s another story). As we say to the kids, “You are the boss of your emotions.” Keep a list of all the things you loved about your spouse when you were first together in your wallet and look at it from time to time.

2. If you aren’t having any fun, then you aren’t any fun. Stay fresh. Bring something to the table. Read, get a hobby, watch wierd movies, join a bocce team, just get a life outside of kids and work, however miniscule. An hour a week outside of your routine doing something you personally love can work miracles. Hire a sitter, trade time with a friend, beg your in-laws, just DO it. If you resist this, then, I have observed, you are on a slow slide to hating being married.

3. Share something besides the kids. For us, we cycle through different things depending on what phase we have been in. It can be paying sports together, it can be scrabble, it can be music, or, as it has been in post-baby exhaustion, Jon Stewart and Ricky Gervais. We try to laugh together every day for at least ten or twenty minutes, and these two guys give us a lot to laugh at.

4. A foot rub goes a LONG way. So do spontaneous, all-family, kitchen dance parties and racing each other around the outside of the house in the rain. At night.

Have some fun. Laugh. Force yourself to enjoy something. All else will fall into place.

So, it’s back to reality this week. Ramping up for school and sports –received the first ice hockey email this weekend, yikes — and the rush and grind of the school year.

Two things were made clear to me this summer, especially on vacation. One insight I had was how much I really love it when Tom is with the family 24/7. My day is a whole lot better when he is around. He is fun and energetic, which is great, but he also is useful, especially when he isn’t worn out by work. You know, when you grow up in big families, I guess everyone is trained to make themselves useful. We may have hated all those chores as kids, but at least you know how to take care of things when you are older. It’s a treat having two adults handling all the meals and childcare and driving an shopping and entertainment when we are on vacation. 

It’s also become important to me that my kids know how to be useful and flexible. It is awareness development more than anything else, to enter a situation and know you can carry your own weight. We had a series of visitors while were at the beach, and let’s just say these children were a lot of work. I am not a neatnick, let’s get that clear. But we were using someone else’s home, and I grew increasingly irritated with the wet suits and towels on the floor, the chip bags spilled on the furniture, the constant reminders to take muddy feet off the wall, and please, please, flush the toilet. One kid took multiple showers and made multiple changes of clothes every day, leaving the dirty ones like droppings through the house. I had to hide food so we could have meals. I found one kid reading my email, another one playing on my phone. At one point, I got snippy at one of the kids who had inundated me with requests. This kid asked me to make a sandwich. I said all the sandwich stuff was right there on the table and they could help themselves. They looked at all the choices and said, “I don’t eat any of that. What else have you got?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t a restaurant,” I said.

“Well, I want to eat. When are you going food shopping?”

I turned and walked out to where Tom was reading and sat down.”Help me before I say something really horrible.”

He turned a page.”Don’t worry,” he said. “They are leaving. I made the call.”

“Tom, are we going to have to start stating house rules or something? Don’t tell me have come to that.” I imagined a posted sign as people entered the door. In this house, we do not wipe snot on the doorframe . . ..

He shook his head in disbelief. “It’s been wild.”

Even Dex and Neve, who are hit-and-miss in the chore department,  fell onto the floor in mock exhaustion when they left. “Look at this place. It’s a mess.”

“Yeah, they were a lot of work.”

I held my tongue. They both looked at other. “I’ll get the broom,” Dex sighed.

My ultimate goal as a parent is to make myself obsolete. Really. I want to be out kayaking or hiking some exotic location when the kids are older, enjoying the fact that my kids don’t need me around at all. Oh sure, I’ll see them a fair bit and share their lives through phone calls and whatever electronic communication device we’ll have then, but I want them to sail their own ship. I was chomping at the bit for years in my parents’ home because I was an adventurer and traveller who happened to be born into a family that loved routine and tradition. No one, and I mean no one, could understand at all why I wanted to live abroad. It was like I had said I wanted to stick needles under my fingernails. Worse yet was when i really began to travel and decided to live far from home. Was I insane? Did I not love them? That I just enjoyed experiencing different ways of living was impossible to convey. Every alternate choice I made was regarded as a affront to them, and I never could get out from under that. Maybe I will have tradition-loving homebodies who want to hang out with mom and dad; who knows. But I recall only having a deep sense of what my parents wanted for me by the time I was an adult, and had never really given much creedence to what I wanted.  So, every day I work the kids away from me in tiny ways in the hopes that by the time they are on their own, they will have a fair sense of who they are, who they could be, and what is important to them.

Of course, this is all very lofty when you’ve got Colin running out in the street, climbing out of his crib at all hours and refusing to potty train, but you know, I can dream.