The other day, I was driving around with the teenager and a friend of the teenager, and the upcoming presidential election came up in discussion. If you think teenagers are oblivious to what is going on around them, they aren't- they only give that appearance, probably as an innate defense mechanism against annoying parents. It occurred to me then that soon these teenagers would be voting; my daughter's friend will be old enough to vote in the November elections.
The teenager had asked me once, how do you know who to vote for? Sometimes it's hard, I told her. Sometimes (often) all the choices suck and it's more of a decision about who will do the least harm rather than who will do the most good, but especially as women it's important that we vote because people fought hard so that we could, and because it matters. Sometimes elections, especially local ones, are decided by one vote. I thought she'd roll her eyes at me when I said this, but she didn't.
It is a good question- how do you know who to vote for? It's where those critical thinking skills come into use, and it seems these days that our collective critical thinking skills have greatly atrophied. Misinformation on the internet flourishes like an unchecked black mold infestation in a damp dark corner, and we often just accept all of it as truth, and pass it on. We are not teaching our kids good decision making when we form beliefs based on slanted information without considering it carefully.
As a college student way back in the ancient days, when we had to use card catalogs and hard copy books instead of our iPads, I learned the following:
1. If you only have enough quarters for one load of laundry, do not put the red sweater in with the white skivvies.
2. Do not start sentences with the word "there". Try it; it's hard - but your writing will improve.
3. Always check more than one source for information. Evaluate your sources. Could there be bias towards one particular view? Is information being taken out of context, or is essential information being left out entirely? What is the author's agenda? Is the source a reliable one? What other sources verify it or contradict it? Is there a source or primary document and what does it say? (I was an English major; life is hard for you when the Canterbury Tales, in medieval English, is your original document- but try writing a paper about Geoffrey Chaucer without it).
Just because you like what you are reading doesn't mean that it is correct. Just because an article fits nicely with your world view doesn't mean that it's accurate. In the last two weeks I have seen both conservative and liberal news sources report bad information. (snarky comment alert: spinning information shouldn't be necessary in regards to most candidates for office; the facts are unsavory enough. Snarky comment ended).
It can't be just the responsibility of schools to teach critical thinking, although it is an important part of a formal education. As parents, we need to encourage our kids to research and think for themselves- from evaluating the differences between politicians campaigning for office to which is the best car to buy, and why. It can be hard when children and teenagers begin to question some of our own cherished beliefs. Sometimes those conversations can be very awkward and emotional.
A story about the teenager as a young'un: shortly after she had learned to read, we were at the movie theater and she saw the sign that says "no outside food permitted". I happened to have a purse full of outside food, and she knew it, because we had bought it together at the grocery store an hour before. She looked at me and asked why I had outside food if it wasn't allowed. I ignore that rule, I told her. Everyone does. But Mom, she said, you're always telling us we have to follow the rules even if we don't like them, but you're breaking that rule. Oh, ouch. Awkward.
However, with the proliferation of questionable information available these days, it is imperative that our offspring learn how to use their critical thinking skills. If our society devolves to a point where we are all making important decisions based on Internet memes, then we are a lost cause.
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Hamster Care
The other night, the Dad of No and I were standing in the kitchen having parent chat, and the Son of Never Stops Eating walked in the kitchen with his hamster in one hand and his toothbrush in the other. He then proceeded to begin brushing the hamster with his toothbrush.
Yes, let me repeat that last sentence: my son was grooming a domesticated rodent. With his toothbrush.
At this point in this narrative, people who don't have kids are going "Ewwww!". People who do have kids are absolutely cracking up, unless you are a germaphobe first time parent of a 3 month old and you still sterilize pacifiers. Don't fret, your time will come. Yes, go ahead, you know you want to laugh.
What are you doing? I asked him. I'm grooming my hamster, he replies. I read about it in a book. My first thought was hallelujah! he was reading a book! Voluntarily! My second thought is, I suppose it's time for new toothbrushes. And then later, I thought, who grooms a hamster? Part of the appeal of owning a pet hamster is that they are supposed to groom themselves. You don't have to bathe them or brush them. Except for the fact that they can easily escape and chew drywall or furniture and they run around in their wheels all night long making noise, they're supposed to be low-maintenance pets.
I was curious, so I checked online. Apparently, yes, people DO groom their hamsters with toothbrushes, although hopefully not the same toothbrushes they use to brush their teeth. We are on hamster #4 and I honestly had no idea that grooming a hamster with a toothbrush is something that people did. I also found other sites that said no, hamsters don't need to be groomed, they can take care of that themselves. I was relieved to have that verified; I'd hate to think that I'd been a bad hamster owner.
Fortunately we have a stash of new, clean, un-hamstered toothbrushes, so the kids were provided with new toothbrushes and it was clarified that if the hamster needed grooming it should be done with an old toothbrush.
Meanwhile, I am still internally laughing. These are the parenting moments I live for. Part of the fun and joy of parenting is acquiring a collection of family stories which become the tales that you tell on road trips, or that you save for the graduation party or the wedding toast, or that you might even tell the grandchildren one day when they want to know what their mom or dad was like as a kid. I know this story is going in the family anthology. I can already hear myself telling it again sometime in the future. I remember when your father (or your uncle) groomed a hamster with his toothbrush.
True story.
Yes, let me repeat that last sentence: my son was grooming a domesticated rodent. With his toothbrush.
At this point in this narrative, people who don't have kids are going "Ewwww!". People who do have kids are absolutely cracking up, unless you are a germaphobe first time parent of a 3 month old and you still sterilize pacifiers. Don't fret, your time will come. Yes, go ahead, you know you want to laugh.
What are you doing? I asked him. I'm grooming my hamster, he replies. I read about it in a book. My first thought was hallelujah! he was reading a book! Voluntarily! My second thought is, I suppose it's time for new toothbrushes. And then later, I thought, who grooms a hamster? Part of the appeal of owning a pet hamster is that they are supposed to groom themselves. You don't have to bathe them or brush them. Except for the fact that they can easily escape and chew drywall or furniture and they run around in their wheels all night long making noise, they're supposed to be low-maintenance pets.
I was curious, so I checked online. Apparently, yes, people DO groom their hamsters with toothbrushes, although hopefully not the same toothbrushes they use to brush their teeth. We are on hamster #4 and I honestly had no idea that grooming a hamster with a toothbrush is something that people did. I also found other sites that said no, hamsters don't need to be groomed, they can take care of that themselves. I was relieved to have that verified; I'd hate to think that I'd been a bad hamster owner.
Fortunately we have a stash of new, clean, un-hamstered toothbrushes, so the kids were provided with new toothbrushes and it was clarified that if the hamster needed grooming it should be done with an old toothbrush.
Meanwhile, I am still internally laughing. These are the parenting moments I live for. Part of the fun and joy of parenting is acquiring a collection of family stories which become the tales that you tell on road trips, or that you save for the graduation party or the wedding toast, or that you might even tell the grandchildren one day when they want to know what their mom or dad was like as a kid. I know this story is going in the family anthology. I can already hear myself telling it again sometime in the future. I remember when your father (or your uncle) groomed a hamster with his toothbrush.
True story.
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Interest List
Sometime in 2009, I received some of the best advice I have ever been given. The advice was this: Get on the lists.
When you have a child with special needs, you quickly discover that you will be endlessly deluged by paperwork and that getting anything accomplished will often mean working through complicated constantly shifting rules that only a very few truly understand. It's like trying to navigate an elephant through a quicksand field by walking on a tightrope with your eyes blindfolded. I don't remember where I was or even who gave me this valuable information about the lists, but I'm sure my reaction was something like that of a deer in headlights. List? What list? The medicaid waiver program interest lists for programs that will help you get services for your child, I was told. So I got on the lists. They're complicated. People (including the Mom of No) pay money to go to workshops that attempt to clarify the information. I'm not even sure that I understand all the intricacies myself. Fortunately, I have a long time to figure it out.
The term "interest list" is actually a euphemism for "the longest waiting list you will ever be on". "Interest list" sounds better. No one wants to be on a waiting list for eleven years, but calling it an interest list mitigates the pain. I placed my son's name on two interest lists in 2009 and we are still waiting. Every year I call the agencies who manage the lists to let them know that we are still interested. This year, for a list known as CLASS (Community Living Assistance and Support Services), out of about 55,000 people in the state, we are somewhere around 17,500. When do you think we might get to the top? I asked the person who took my call. I'm not sure, she said. Probably around 2020.
Last year I even wrote my state representative, who, like most politicians in this state, portrays himself as an advocate for family values, because these are state-managed programs. I received, in reply, a letter that indicated in its substance and tone that this particular issue wasn't a priority. A blow-off letter. Reading it, I wasn't even sure that the staffer who wrote the letter knew what a waiver program was . An 11 year waiting list (excuse me, interest list) for families who need help isn't the kind of family values politicians are interested in. Honestly, unless it affects you, it isn't the kind of issue voters get excited about.
The particular services I am interested in are ones my son will need to support him as he moves into adulthood and his working life- help with finding a place to live, or job coaching. Therefore, I can probably patiently wait until 2020. Unfortunately, I am sure that there are plenty of families out there who can't wait eleven years. I'm not just sitting idly by, however. I continue to work with my son on independence and self-advocacy because even when we get to the top of the waiting (interest) list, there's no guarantee he will actually receive any services. Meanwhile, I have some perspective- when I'm placed on hold for what seems like forever, I can think to myself that I know it could be worse. They could be placing me on an interest list.
When you have a child with special needs, you quickly discover that you will be endlessly deluged by paperwork and that getting anything accomplished will often mean working through complicated constantly shifting rules that only a very few truly understand. It's like trying to navigate an elephant through a quicksand field by walking on a tightrope with your eyes blindfolded. I don't remember where I was or even who gave me this valuable information about the lists, but I'm sure my reaction was something like that of a deer in headlights. List? What list? The medicaid waiver program interest lists for programs that will help you get services for your child, I was told. So I got on the lists. They're complicated. People (including the Mom of No) pay money to go to workshops that attempt to clarify the information. I'm not even sure that I understand all the intricacies myself. Fortunately, I have a long time to figure it out.
The term "interest list" is actually a euphemism for "the longest waiting list you will ever be on". "Interest list" sounds better. No one wants to be on a waiting list for eleven years, but calling it an interest list mitigates the pain. I placed my son's name on two interest lists in 2009 and we are still waiting. Every year I call the agencies who manage the lists to let them know that we are still interested. This year, for a list known as CLASS (Community Living Assistance and Support Services), out of about 55,000 people in the state, we are somewhere around 17,500. When do you think we might get to the top? I asked the person who took my call. I'm not sure, she said. Probably around 2020.
Last year I even wrote my state representative, who, like most politicians in this state, portrays himself as an advocate for family values, because these are state-managed programs. I received, in reply, a letter that indicated in its substance and tone that this particular issue wasn't a priority. A blow-off letter. Reading it, I wasn't even sure that the staffer who wrote the letter knew what a waiver program was . An 11 year waiting list (excuse me, interest list) for families who need help isn't the kind of family values politicians are interested in. Honestly, unless it affects you, it isn't the kind of issue voters get excited about.
The particular services I am interested in are ones my son will need to support him as he moves into adulthood and his working life- help with finding a place to live, or job coaching. Therefore, I can probably patiently wait until 2020. Unfortunately, I am sure that there are plenty of families out there who can't wait eleven years. I'm not just sitting idly by, however. I continue to work with my son on independence and self-advocacy because even when we get to the top of the waiting (interest) list, there's no guarantee he will actually receive any services. Meanwhile, I have some perspective- when I'm placed on hold for what seems like forever, I can think to myself that I know it could be worse. They could be placing me on an interest list.
Saturday, January 23, 2016
Best of 2015 Nature Observations
Yes, I know that it is actually the end of January 2016, and that the time of end-of-year retrospectives has come to an end for 2015- but I've been busy. Give a girl a break.
2015 was a darn good year for me for nature observations. I was able to spend a lot of time on the trails, and got some great observations and some good pictures with my trusty iPhone 5. One of these days I plan to get a "real camera", but something about the challenge of getting a picture of a dragonfly or a butterfly with a phone appeals to me.
Below are some of my favorites from 2015. It was hard to pick, because while I was looking back I realized just how much I'd been able to observe and capture with my phone. It's hard to pick out my #1 favorite- but I'm partial to the chocolate tube slime mold (stemonitis splendens). However, the common green darner (Anax junius) is a close second.
2015 was a darn good year for me for nature observations. I was able to spend a lot of time on the trails, and got some great observations and some good pictures with my trusty iPhone 5. One of these days I plan to get a "real camera", but something about the challenge of getting a picture of a dragonfly or a butterfly with a phone appeals to me.
Below are some of my favorites from 2015. It was hard to pick, because while I was looking back I realized just how much I'd been able to observe and capture with my phone. It's hard to pick out my #1 favorite- but I'm partial to the chocolate tube slime mold (stemonitis splendens). However, the common green darner (Anax junius) is a close second.
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| Auricularia/Jelly ear fungus |
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| Gray Hairstreak |
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| Broad-headed skink |
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| Crawfish |
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| Chocolate tube slime mold |
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| Basketflower |
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| Common Green Darner |
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| Green lynx spider |
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Photographs
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| Great Egret (Ardea alba) |
Every now and then (okay, once a year) the Mom of No takes out the photo album (okay, battered manila folder) where the kids' school pictures are stored (okay, tossed in there) and reminisces about the preschool years, and how much the kids have grown, and then puts the manila folder back with all the other stuff that should be organized neatly but isn't, and there it stays until the next school year's photos come home. I think that the school pictures are a ripoff, but I buy them anyway because they're the only actual print pictures of my kids I've acquired since about 2008.
The Mom of No has hundreds, or possibly even thousands, of digital pictures stashed on a photo storage site. Every now and then I think that I should get some of them printed off, and put in a photo album, so that in my old age I can enjoy them- but I haven't done anything about that in years.
Part of the problem is that there are just too many pictures. The Mom of No remembers back when cameras had film in them, and you had to pay to get the pictures developed to see what was on the film. When you went on vacation or had a big milestone event you took maybe two rolls of film and crossed your fingers that some of them were actually good, and that no one had demonic red eyes or was making rabbit ears behind a sibling's head.
Now, with digital cameras on your phone, you can take more pictures of your kids on a walk to the park than people used to take in an entire year. I probably have hundreds of bad iPhone pictures of blurry great egrets alone, or pictures of white dots that I say are egrets but you're really taking my word for it. That is my other photographic challenge- I take a lot of pictures of things I think are cool, but other people might think are strange- like fungi, or beaver skulls, or spiders. How many pictures of one red admiral butterfly does a person really need? According to what's on my phone, about twenty.
With such an abundance, it's hard to start picking which pictures to print, and which ones to not print but keep digital copies of, and which ones could...dare I say this....delete. Because delete means gone, good-bye, sayonara, adios. At least with film you had a negative, but once that file's deleted it's gone. So that makes it hard to delete any pictures, even if you have 200 pictures of your kids at the local pumpkin patch back in 2009- because the pictures are all just a tiny bit different, even if half of them are of the kids sitting on pumpkins and looking like they'd really rather be climbing on hay bales, or even somewhere else entirely.
Therefore, the digital pictures remain unprinted, unsorted, and unculled. Chances are good that they will stay that way indefinitely. I just hope I can remember the password to the online storage site so when my grandchildren say "Grandma, what did my mommy look like when she was a little girl?", I can just whip out my iPhone 36s and say, "well, dearie, let me show you!".
Monday, January 18, 2016
Nature School
Mom, my son said this morning, I wish nature was my school.
We were on a hike at the local nature preserve, enjoying a sunny but cool day off from school and work. Going hiking is one of our favorite activities, and usually- not all the time, but most of the time, we find something really interesting. Today, it was this:
I'm not sure what it is- a bird skull, possibly. We looked it over and considered the possibilities. Small, lightweight, holes for the eyes on either side. Earlier, we'd come across part of a beaver skull jaw and that bone was dense and heavy, with some very worn teeth still in the bone. Compared to that, this skull was feather light. I picked it up and turned it over; on the top of the skull were six small holes, three on one side of a barely discernible ridge, and three on the other. I don't know if enough is left of the skull to make an ID on exactly what kind of bird it was, but it was a good speculative discussion.
Every time we go out and he sees a new animal, or a wildflower, or a a mushroom, he's learning something about the world he lives in, and he's learning about himself. He doesn't like to get his shoes dirty, and the trail today was a bit muddy from some recent rain. On the way out, I walked ahead of him and I navigated around the puddles.
On the way back, he walked ahead of me for awhile, and at one point I looked up to see him attempting to jump over a puddle. He was taking a risk. He jumped across the puddle successfully, but landed in mud. Oops, he said, I forgot it was there. But that's okay, right, Mom? Once, it would not have been okay. In a world that is not always supportive of different ways of learning, nature is our wide open classroom.
Yes, I thought. Nature is a school. You just don't realize it.
We were on a hike at the local nature preserve, enjoying a sunny but cool day off from school and work. Going hiking is one of our favorite activities, and usually- not all the time, but most of the time, we find something really interesting. Today, it was this:
I'm not sure what it is- a bird skull, possibly. We looked it over and considered the possibilities. Small, lightweight, holes for the eyes on either side. Earlier, we'd come across part of a beaver skull jaw and that bone was dense and heavy, with some very worn teeth still in the bone. Compared to that, this skull was feather light. I picked it up and turned it over; on the top of the skull were six small holes, three on one side of a barely discernible ridge, and three on the other. I don't know if enough is left of the skull to make an ID on exactly what kind of bird it was, but it was a good speculative discussion.
Every time we go out and he sees a new animal, or a wildflower, or a a mushroom, he's learning something about the world he lives in, and he's learning about himself. He doesn't like to get his shoes dirty, and the trail today was a bit muddy from some recent rain. On the way out, I walked ahead of him and I navigated around the puddles.
On the way back, he walked ahead of me for awhile, and at one point I looked up to see him attempting to jump over a puddle. He was taking a risk. He jumped across the puddle successfully, but landed in mud. Oops, he said, I forgot it was there. But that's okay, right, Mom? Once, it would not have been okay. In a world that is not always supportive of different ways of learning, nature is our wide open classroom.
Yes, I thought. Nature is a school. You just don't realize it.
Friday, January 15, 2016
Disagreement
Now that it's 2016, we all have something exciting to look forward to. I know what you're thinking: the release of the next Game of Thrones book! Well, yes, but that wasn't what I had in mind. Ok, the next season of The Walking Dead! Well, yes, that too...but I was actually thinking about an event that's just as convoluted and scary, but takes place in the real world: the Presidential election. It promises to be great fun times, with plenty of lively, civilized debate among friends and fellow citizens. Or, more likely, it promises to be the year of unfollowing/defriending/blocking people on Facebook. I'm really hoping that we can get to November 9, 2016 without the entire population of the United States engaging in one enormous silent treatment of everyone else or imploding in some Stephen King-worthy epic moment.
When the Mom of No was a young'un, information came from three channels on the TV and the newspaper. Now, there are seemingly unlimited sources of information available and a considerable amount of it is bad. Many political/social issues arguments end up with one person linking to an extremely conservative source, another linking to an extremely liberal source, and both of them claiming that their information is exactly right even though all of it is extraordinarily slanted. If you have more than one kid, you know from listening to tattle-telling siblings that the truth is often somewhere in between, vital information is often left out of the telling, and that information is often presented in a way that casts one side in a better light.
We have almost lost the skill of respectful civilized disagreement. If you doubt me, go on social media and pick a controversial topic- or even a non-controversial one. Even an innocuous original post like "tell me a good place to get a mani/pedi" can erupt into flames- like a science experiment gone wildly wrong- under the right conditions.
One common response to a disagreement is claiming that people should stop being so easily offended. It often goes like this:
Person #1: makes statement about issue
Person #2: makes contradictory statement about issue
Person #1: People need to quit being so offended about everything all the time.
However, disagreeing with someone is not the same as being offended by what they say. A related response is to insult the person who disagrees by referring to them in some derogatory way. One of my favorites is the word "sheeple":
Person #1: makes statement about isse
Person #2: makes contradictory statement about issue
Person #1: Well, just go on with the rest of the sheeple and stick your head in the sand.
Another response is to invoke the right to freedom of speech. People are generally free to say what they want to say. However, that doesn't give people the right to not be contradicted. It doesn't exempt anyone from being called out on bad information. You have the right to say it; I have the right to disagree with it.
The Mom of No learned once in a communications seminar that in group discussions, there are often some people who will just not change their minds on an issue. We probably all have at least one belief that we aren't going to change, no matter what. I know that I have a few. Sometimes it's better to recognize that no matter what you say or how you say it, you're in virtual quicksand and you should escape ASAP. Walk away, roll your eyes if you must, although if the person is standing in front of you, just roll your eyes in your mind. Any teenager can help you with that skill, if you need help. And good luck over the next year.
When the Mom of No was a young'un, information came from three channels on the TV and the newspaper. Now, there are seemingly unlimited sources of information available and a considerable amount of it is bad. Many political/social issues arguments end up with one person linking to an extremely conservative source, another linking to an extremely liberal source, and both of them claiming that their information is exactly right even though all of it is extraordinarily slanted. If you have more than one kid, you know from listening to tattle-telling siblings that the truth is often somewhere in between, vital information is often left out of the telling, and that information is often presented in a way that casts one side in a better light.
We have almost lost the skill of respectful civilized disagreement. If you doubt me, go on social media and pick a controversial topic- or even a non-controversial one. Even an innocuous original post like "tell me a good place to get a mani/pedi" can erupt into flames- like a science experiment gone wildly wrong- under the right conditions.
One common response to a disagreement is claiming that people should stop being so easily offended. It often goes like this:
Person #1: makes statement about issue
Person #2: makes contradictory statement about issue
Person #1: People need to quit being so offended about everything all the time.
However, disagreeing with someone is not the same as being offended by what they say. A related response is to insult the person who disagrees by referring to them in some derogatory way. One of my favorites is the word "sheeple":
Person #1: makes statement about isse
Person #2: makes contradictory statement about issue
Person #1: Well, just go on with the rest of the sheeple and stick your head in the sand.
Another response is to invoke the right to freedom of speech. People are generally free to say what they want to say. However, that doesn't give people the right to not be contradicted. It doesn't exempt anyone from being called out on bad information. You have the right to say it; I have the right to disagree with it.
The Mom of No learned once in a communications seminar that in group discussions, there are often some people who will just not change their minds on an issue. We probably all have at least one belief that we aren't going to change, no matter what. I know that I have a few. Sometimes it's better to recognize that no matter what you say or how you say it, you're in virtual quicksand and you should escape ASAP. Walk away, roll your eyes if you must, although if the person is standing in front of you, just roll your eyes in your mind. Any teenager can help you with that skill, if you need help. And good luck over the next year.
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Comfort Zone
Right before New Year's Day, I saw an announcement on my Facebook feed about a local polar bear swim. The idea was to jump into the lake, literally, on New Year's Day. No way am I doing that, I thought. It looks dangerous- and really cold. I think I even made a comment about needing to clean off my kitchen cabinets. Anyway, later, I saw a picture of the people who did participate- one wise woman wore a life jacket- and it seemed like they had a good time. I started having regrets about not trying it; it seems like something you should do at least once just to say that you did it. As long as you take safety precautions, of course. The Mom of No is an advocate for having fun recreational experiences in a safe manner.
So a few days later I saw a friend posting about something called "cardio drumming". Now that the holidays are over, I've been feeling like I'm emerging from a massive food hangover. I feel like a giant slug. I haven't specifically made a goal to lose weight, but I could be in better shape. I sit all day at work; I know that I need to get more exercise. I asked her about it. You should try it, she said. It's a lot of fun.
Almost immediately, I started having doubts. Apparently this activity involved beating on large inflated plastic balls with drumsticks. At at least one point, people were dancing. Suppose one of these drumsticks went flying across the room and whacked me on the head- or somehow gouged out my eyeball? I'm not exactly known for my dancing ability (or my sense of rhythm). Suppose the other class attendees started snickering at my lack of drumming and dancing talent? This activity seemed fraught with peril. The treadmill is boring, but safe. No flying drumsticks near a treadmill.
Then I thought about my regrets about not trying the polar bear swim. It can't be that bad, I thought. If it's a disaster, I will just skulk away in shame and not ever go back. But it will probably be OK. I have a tendency to overthink things, and I recognized I was doing exactly that. I asked the teenager if she wanted to try it. You try it first and let me know what it's like, she said. Was that a bad sign? Never mind. I got in the car and went to the drumming place.
It ended up being a lot of fun. Drumming (it might have been more like fast but random beating) on a large inflated ball with wooden drumsticks is really stress-reducing. For an hour, all I did was beat on this ball and move around while listening to music. I probably looked somewhat silly, but everyone else seemed to be concentrating on their own drumming. No drumsticks went airborne. It was definitely more enjoyable than walking on a treadmill for 45 minutes. The exercise felt good and made me feel less slug-like. I'm even willing to do it again.
So I have been thinking, with the start of the new year, this might be a good time to resolve to try some new things. I'm starting to make a list in my head. Also, I'm going to get a life jacket to keep at the house. If a polar bear swim comes along for 2017, and the lake isn't covered in ice, I might just give it a try.
So a few days later I saw a friend posting about something called "cardio drumming". Now that the holidays are over, I've been feeling like I'm emerging from a massive food hangover. I feel like a giant slug. I haven't specifically made a goal to lose weight, but I could be in better shape. I sit all day at work; I know that I need to get more exercise. I asked her about it. You should try it, she said. It's a lot of fun.
Almost immediately, I started having doubts. Apparently this activity involved beating on large inflated plastic balls with drumsticks. At at least one point, people were dancing. Suppose one of these drumsticks went flying across the room and whacked me on the head- or somehow gouged out my eyeball? I'm not exactly known for my dancing ability (or my sense of rhythm). Suppose the other class attendees started snickering at my lack of drumming and dancing talent? This activity seemed fraught with peril. The treadmill is boring, but safe. No flying drumsticks near a treadmill.
Then I thought about my regrets about not trying the polar bear swim. It can't be that bad, I thought. If it's a disaster, I will just skulk away in shame and not ever go back. But it will probably be OK. I have a tendency to overthink things, and I recognized I was doing exactly that. I asked the teenager if she wanted to try it. You try it first and let me know what it's like, she said. Was that a bad sign? Never mind. I got in the car and went to the drumming place.
It ended up being a lot of fun. Drumming (it might have been more like fast but random beating) on a large inflated ball with wooden drumsticks is really stress-reducing. For an hour, all I did was beat on this ball and move around while listening to music. I probably looked somewhat silly, but everyone else seemed to be concentrating on their own drumming. No drumsticks went airborne. It was definitely more enjoyable than walking on a treadmill for 45 minutes. The exercise felt good and made me feel less slug-like. I'm even willing to do it again.
So I have been thinking, with the start of the new year, this might be a good time to resolve to try some new things. I'm starting to make a list in my head. Also, I'm going to get a life jacket to keep at the house. If a polar bear swim comes along for 2017, and the lake isn't covered in ice, I might just give it a try.
Thursday, January 7, 2016
Teenagers in the house
How do you know you are the parent of teenagers? Here are some signs:
When you do laundry, you have no idea what socks belong to what feet. Are those your husband's socks? Your son's socks? Your daughter's socks? Your socks? The same might apply to underwear and t-shirts.
You start getting a lot of mail. All of it is from institutions of higher education, featuring happy glowing students sitting on gorgeous green lawns, or in classrooms looking engaged with the learning process. None of this mail is addressed to you. Cost is not mentioned.
When your co-workers get up to go somewhere, you interrogate them. Where are you going? How long will you be there? Who are you going with? Don't text and drive!
You accelerate to get through a yellow light before it turns red, and then turn to your 15 year old and say, don't do this when you start driving. She rolls her eyes at you and says whatevs, Mom.
Your grocery bill is insane. You become the person in line no one wants to be behind, because the pile of items in the cart is taller than you. Two days later, you're back at the store because the only thing left in the fridge is mayo and an eggplant.
Your choice of car music is constantly being critiqued.
Your house does not have enough available power outlets to charge all the electronics owned by its inhabitants. Everyone has to take turns. Arguments between siblings start off with "That is NOT your charger!"
You have to go to the online "urban dictionary" to decipher what your teenager is telling you.
Your teenage daughter has claimed your brown dress boots for her own, and you are not getting them back. However, when your son can't find his shoes, no worries- he can wear your husband's.
Your son has told you to buy a different shampoo because he wants to start smelling like a guy. Bubble gum scent, apparently, is uncool.
Going out to eat costs a fortune because you can no longer order off the children's menu. You could be dishonest, and claim that the younger one is still 12, but since he's taller than you, no one would actually believe it. You have to bring your own crayons.
Your hair turned gray when your insurance agent told you how much it was going to cost to add a teenaged driver to your policy- and that was with the good student discount, the multiple driver discount, the defensive driving discount, and you crying on the phone asking for mercy.
You use the silent treatment on your kids as punishment and you're not sure they noticed.
You ask your teenagers what they need for school supplies and the answer is, I dunno, maybe some paper and a four hundred dollar calculator.
You show them movies from your own teenage years, and they roll on the floor laughing at the old technology. War Games with Matthew Broderick. That was high tech back in 1983. At the same time, you're astonished by how much freedom kids had. Sure, just go off to a high-security military area in a different state with your girlfriend, no worries!
When you tell your own parents about your struggles, they just start laughing.
When you do laundry, you have no idea what socks belong to what feet. Are those your husband's socks? Your son's socks? Your daughter's socks? Your socks? The same might apply to underwear and t-shirts.
You start getting a lot of mail. All of it is from institutions of higher education, featuring happy glowing students sitting on gorgeous green lawns, or in classrooms looking engaged with the learning process. None of this mail is addressed to you. Cost is not mentioned.
When your co-workers get up to go somewhere, you interrogate them. Where are you going? How long will you be there? Who are you going with? Don't text and drive!
You accelerate to get through a yellow light before it turns red, and then turn to your 15 year old and say, don't do this when you start driving. She rolls her eyes at you and says whatevs, Mom.
Your grocery bill is insane. You become the person in line no one wants to be behind, because the pile of items in the cart is taller than you. Two days later, you're back at the store because the only thing left in the fridge is mayo and an eggplant.
Your choice of car music is constantly being critiqued.
Your house does not have enough available power outlets to charge all the electronics owned by its inhabitants. Everyone has to take turns. Arguments between siblings start off with "That is NOT your charger!"
You have to go to the online "urban dictionary" to decipher what your teenager is telling you.
Your teenage daughter has claimed your brown dress boots for her own, and you are not getting them back. However, when your son can't find his shoes, no worries- he can wear your husband's.
Your son has told you to buy a different shampoo because he wants to start smelling like a guy. Bubble gum scent, apparently, is uncool.
Going out to eat costs a fortune because you can no longer order off the children's menu. You could be dishonest, and claim that the younger one is still 12, but since he's taller than you, no one would actually believe it. You have to bring your own crayons.
Your hair turned gray when your insurance agent told you how much it was going to cost to add a teenaged driver to your policy- and that was with the good student discount, the multiple driver discount, the defensive driving discount, and you crying on the phone asking for mercy.
You use the silent treatment on your kids as punishment and you're not sure they noticed.
You ask your teenagers what they need for school supplies and the answer is, I dunno, maybe some paper and a four hundred dollar calculator.
You show them movies from your own teenage years, and they roll on the floor laughing at the old technology. War Games with Matthew Broderick. That was high tech back in 1983. At the same time, you're astonished by how much freedom kids had. Sure, just go off to a high-security military area in a different state with your girlfriend, no worries!
When you tell your own parents about your struggles, they just start laughing.
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
Money Tree
Last night, we went out to eat to celebrate the beginning of school again (well, I was celebrating- the offspring didn't seem too excited). While we were waiting for our dinner, the subject of money management came up.
Son: Mom, your boss gives you money, right?
Me: Well, I get paid for working.
Son: And you're the boss of us, right?
Me: Uh, yes, I suppose....(starting to wonder where this is going)
Son: So you should give us money.
So clearly there is a disconnect here. My son has some difficulty with abstract concepts, so I've explained before that my employer doesn't just give me money; I have to work to earn it. And once I get paid, I don't get to keep much of it for very long, which is a really sad story. I think money is a hard concept for kids to really get, especially when you use credit cards. They don't see the part of the process where you are paying the credit card company at the end of the month; they only see the part where you're handing over a rectangle of plastic and getting stuff in return (I know, you can use just cash, but then I wouldn't get reward points on gasoline purchases). I've had this conversation with the teenager before (she was much younger):
Kid: I want a new iPhone. Everyone else has a new phone.
Me: Sorry, not happening.
Kid: Why?
Me: Too expensive. Besides...(general discussion about how just because "everyone else" has something, that doesn't mean you are getting it, too)
Kid: Just put it on your credit card.
My dad, the Grandpa of No, would exclaim, every time my brother or I hit him up for some money: What? Do you think money grows on trees! There's no money tree in the back yard! I suspect I've said that very same thing, despite telling myself, as a teenager, that I would never say such things to my own kids. For a while, my kids thought you could just go to the bank drive-thru and they would give you money. I probably explained about fifty times that you had to have money in your account and that the bank was just giving you your own money. Later, I thought, it does seem logical- you drive up, put a piece of paper in a tube, send it off, and a few minutes later, look! Money! And, if you're really lucky, a lollipop!
When I was a new mom, I had grandiose plans in regards to teaching money skills. I was going to do all the right things, and my kids would be financially astute and self-supporting by the time they were 15. I was also going to be one of those highly organized moms who knew just how to install a car seat and decorate the perfect birthday cake, and that didn't happen either. Every website on parenting has a different take on teaching kids money management and allowance. After careful study of the many options, I eventually decided on the "I'm going to wing it and see what happens" approach. Now that they're older, though, I'm trying to make more of an effort to explain things like loans, taxes, buying something big like a car. I showed the teenager a statement of benefits form for a doctor's visit of hers and she was aghast at how much it cost. Welcome to adulthood, I told her. She looked like I'd suggested that we peel her fingernails off with hot pincers. That's a not-fun part of becoming an adult- you get to learn that a lot of your money goes for stuff like utility bills and doctor visits, and not fun stuff like hanging out at the fro-yo place.
Of course, there is one success in the conversation that my son and I had last night. He recognized that I am the boss of him! I'm sure that will last about 2 days- when I remind him again to clean his room.
Son: Mom, your boss gives you money, right?
Me: Well, I get paid for working.
Son: And you're the boss of us, right?
Me: Uh, yes, I suppose....(starting to wonder where this is going)
Son: So you should give us money.
So clearly there is a disconnect here. My son has some difficulty with abstract concepts, so I've explained before that my employer doesn't just give me money; I have to work to earn it. And once I get paid, I don't get to keep much of it for very long, which is a really sad story. I think money is a hard concept for kids to really get, especially when you use credit cards. They don't see the part of the process where you are paying the credit card company at the end of the month; they only see the part where you're handing over a rectangle of plastic and getting stuff in return (I know, you can use just cash, but then I wouldn't get reward points on gasoline purchases). I've had this conversation with the teenager before (she was much younger):
Kid: I want a new iPhone. Everyone else has a new phone.
Me: Sorry, not happening.
Kid: Why?
Me: Too expensive. Besides...(general discussion about how just because "everyone else" has something, that doesn't mean you are getting it, too)
Kid: Just put it on your credit card.
My dad, the Grandpa of No, would exclaim, every time my brother or I hit him up for some money: What? Do you think money grows on trees! There's no money tree in the back yard! I suspect I've said that very same thing, despite telling myself, as a teenager, that I would never say such things to my own kids. For a while, my kids thought you could just go to the bank drive-thru and they would give you money. I probably explained about fifty times that you had to have money in your account and that the bank was just giving you your own money. Later, I thought, it does seem logical- you drive up, put a piece of paper in a tube, send it off, and a few minutes later, look! Money! And, if you're really lucky, a lollipop!
When I was a new mom, I had grandiose plans in regards to teaching money skills. I was going to do all the right things, and my kids would be financially astute and self-supporting by the time they were 15. I was also going to be one of those highly organized moms who knew just how to install a car seat and decorate the perfect birthday cake, and that didn't happen either. Every website on parenting has a different take on teaching kids money management and allowance. After careful study of the many options, I eventually decided on the "I'm going to wing it and see what happens" approach. Now that they're older, though, I'm trying to make more of an effort to explain things like loans, taxes, buying something big like a car. I showed the teenager a statement of benefits form for a doctor's visit of hers and she was aghast at how much it cost. Welcome to adulthood, I told her. She looked like I'd suggested that we peel her fingernails off with hot pincers. That's a not-fun part of becoming an adult- you get to learn that a lot of your money goes for stuff like utility bills and doctor visits, and not fun stuff like hanging out at the fro-yo place.
Of course, there is one success in the conversation that my son and I had last night. He recognized that I am the boss of him! I'm sure that will last about 2 days- when I remind him again to clean his room.
Sunday, January 3, 2016
Shopping
On New Year's Day, while most people were recovering from hangovers, watching football, or sleeping (or some combination of the above), I was subjecting myself to torture. I was at the mall with the teenager, looking for a dress to wear to upcoming school events. It wasn't spending time with my offspring that was torture; it was the act of shopping itself. I find shopping for apparel frustrating because of the following challenges that must be overcome:
I hate to shop. I'd rather be hiking or reading a book.
The teenager hates to shop.
Any garment chosen has to be reasonably priced.
The item under consideration cannot be poorly constructed.
If for the offspring, it must comply with the school dress code.
The individual for whom it is intended should be willing to wear it.
It should actually fit.
There is probably in existence one dress in the entire state that meets all of those criteria, and it's in a mall in some other city hours away. I know where that dress isn't, and those are the stores that we went to on New Year's Day. I have no talent or ability for shopping. I want the clothes to magically appear in my house ready to be worn. If a genie came out of a bottle and gave me three wishes, that would be one. (the second would be for world peace and I'm undecided on the third). But no genie has appeared so I am on my own. It is a sad story. For 13 years, I had a job that required me to wear a uniform and it was heaven on Earth; I didn't realize how great it was until I got promoted and started wearing regular clothes.
I've also learned my lesson about buying items sight unseen, or trying to cajole either of my offspring into wearing something. The Son of Never Stops Eating will wear only soft clothing, and my daughter once informed me on Easter Sunday, about 2 minutes before leaving for church, that her new shoes were too tight and that she'd said that they fit only so that we'd stop shopping and go to the park.
The Grandma of No was a magnificent seamstress, and she taught me how to sew. When I'd go shopping with her, she'd pull out a shirt and point out all the mistakes- those buttonholes are fraying! The plaids don't match up! the seam is wrong! So now I do it too. Even though I have no intention of going home and actually sewing anything, I still think, wow, I could do this better, even though it would probably also take me two years and I'd do a lot of cussing and maybe some throwing of breakable objects.
It also seems like the teenager clothing designers have no idea that there is any kind of school dress code, or they don't care. I know that dress codes can be controversial. The Mom of No can only stir so many pots at one time, so even though I think that girls have a greater chance of non-compliance because girls' clothing is more complicated, and I think that is unfair, I don't want to get a call at work that the teenager needs different clothes or she'll miss an important test. Also, at the risk of sounding cranky, everything is ugly. And I grew up in the 80's- the decade of neon jumpsuits, cut up sweatshirts, and leg warmers. You would think that anything would be an improvement over neon cut-up sweatshirts, but I'm not so sure.
Sometimes I wonder if there is some secret source of attractive, inexpensive, well-made, dress-code compliant source of clothing that every other mother knows about that I am completely unaware of. If you know of such a place, please tell me. You know, a place where your fairy godmother waves a magic wand and everything is in your size, with your favorite colors, perfectly coordinated.
I also hate to mention this, but while we were in the stores, we saw the winter coats on sale (50% off!) and, immediately next to them- prepare yourselves- were the bathing suits. Just what you want to see right after the indulgences of December, right? Run for the hills; it's now apparently bathing suit shopping season.
I hate to shop. I'd rather be hiking or reading a book.
The teenager hates to shop.
Any garment chosen has to be reasonably priced.
The item under consideration cannot be poorly constructed.
If for the offspring, it must comply with the school dress code.
The individual for whom it is intended should be willing to wear it.
It should actually fit.
There is probably in existence one dress in the entire state that meets all of those criteria, and it's in a mall in some other city hours away. I know where that dress isn't, and those are the stores that we went to on New Year's Day. I have no talent or ability for shopping. I want the clothes to magically appear in my house ready to be worn. If a genie came out of a bottle and gave me three wishes, that would be one. (the second would be for world peace and I'm undecided on the third). But no genie has appeared so I am on my own. It is a sad story. For 13 years, I had a job that required me to wear a uniform and it was heaven on Earth; I didn't realize how great it was until I got promoted and started wearing regular clothes.
I've also learned my lesson about buying items sight unseen, or trying to cajole either of my offspring into wearing something. The Son of Never Stops Eating will wear only soft clothing, and my daughter once informed me on Easter Sunday, about 2 minutes before leaving for church, that her new shoes were too tight and that she'd said that they fit only so that we'd stop shopping and go to the park.
The Grandma of No was a magnificent seamstress, and she taught me how to sew. When I'd go shopping with her, she'd pull out a shirt and point out all the mistakes- those buttonholes are fraying! The plaids don't match up! the seam is wrong! So now I do it too. Even though I have no intention of going home and actually sewing anything, I still think, wow, I could do this better, even though it would probably also take me two years and I'd do a lot of cussing and maybe some throwing of breakable objects.
It also seems like the teenager clothing designers have no idea that there is any kind of school dress code, or they don't care. I know that dress codes can be controversial. The Mom of No can only stir so many pots at one time, so even though I think that girls have a greater chance of non-compliance because girls' clothing is more complicated, and I think that is unfair, I don't want to get a call at work that the teenager needs different clothes or she'll miss an important test. Also, at the risk of sounding cranky, everything is ugly. And I grew up in the 80's- the decade of neon jumpsuits, cut up sweatshirts, and leg warmers. You would think that anything would be an improvement over neon cut-up sweatshirts, but I'm not so sure.
Sometimes I wonder if there is some secret source of attractive, inexpensive, well-made, dress-code compliant source of clothing that every other mother knows about that I am completely unaware of. If you know of such a place, please tell me. You know, a place where your fairy godmother waves a magic wand and everything is in your size, with your favorite colors, perfectly coordinated.
I also hate to mention this, but while we were in the stores, we saw the winter coats on sale (50% off!) and, immediately next to them- prepare yourselves- were the bathing suits. Just what you want to see right after the indulgences of December, right? Run for the hills; it's now apparently bathing suit shopping season.
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