May 23, 2011 ~ Day 164 The Boy and His Tree

My five year old son managed to hurt my feelings tonight, which is essentially the same thing as saying that "I managed to hurt my own feelings this evening" since after all he is only a child... and as my mother taught me long ago, nobody can hurt your feelings unless you give them the power to do so.

The obvious question I have for her then, is this: How exactly do we give others the power to hurt us? Do we give them this power simply by loving them?

If we make ourselves vulnerable to the sting of verbal arrows simply by allowing ourselves to feel heartfelt emotion then I'm not exactly sure how to shield myself from the spiteful barbs that come my way from my children at times. It's not like I can stop loving them... they are the most precious and sacred beings in my life. I *made* them. They will forever be an integral part of me.

That said, what a little doofus!

Tonight we were talking about Summer vacation which is rapidly approaching - just two more weeks of school to go. (Hard to believe that we're about to be the parents of a six year old first grader!!!)

Money is very tight for our family at the moment although I firmly believe that things are looking up and that soon we will be in a much better position fiscally. At this exact moment though there is no money for summer camp for my children, especially as our middle son will be attending private summer school to make up for all of the learning he's missed in the past four months.

Tonight then, I had a brief talk with the eldest boy about the lengthy school vacation that we are about to spend together.

"Honey, I'm so excited that I get to spend your Summer break with you!"

"Well I'm not."

"Not what?"

"Not excited to spend it with you."

"Oh. Well, why? We're going to have a great time!"

"You are not fun. I don't have fun with you."

"I'm sorry to hear you feel that way."

"I'd rather be with my Dad. He's more fun than you."

"Oh, yes - well I can see what you mean. Your father is a very fun man. Unfortunately he has to work during the week so I guess you're stuck with me."

"But you're not fun."

"That really is too bad. I'll just have to do my best to BE more fun for you."

I thought about it for a moment.

"Hey - wait a minute," I added. "The last full day you spent with me, I took you to the movies and to get Mexican food and ice cream. You said you had a great time! How is that not fun?"

"It was okay. But I get bored with you."

"Gosh. Well, I'm sorry but we just don't have the money to send you to fancy camps right now so I guess we'll just have to do our best at home."

"No!!! That's even BORING-ER!"

"Well honey, I'm not sure what else to say. I guess we'll just have to see how it goes."

Turning my attention from him, I began to read a bedtime story to his little brother and sister... "Mr. Putter and Tabby Bake The Cake".

Two minutes later, he was back. "Mom. MOM. MOM!!! I mean to say, I *like* spending time with you. It's fine."

"Um, okay son. So, I'm going to keep reading to your brother and sister now."

"MOM. MOMM!!! MOMMMMMM!!!!! I like spending time with you, okay? I like it."

"Sure, that's good." I continued reading the story.

My son scowled and crossed his arms in front of himself, apparently frustrated by the realization that I wasn't going to get upset in front of him. He watched me for several minutes and at last he slunk toward the bookcase, pulled out a bedtime story and came to sit next to us on the bed.

The episode was over, I tucked the kids into bed and journeyed out into the garden to decompress.

Despite the calm attitude I maintained in the actual situation, I felt seriously annoyed AND bummed about this exchange.

"Why am I letting this get to me?" I wondered, and then realized it must be due to some latent feeling of guilt or self-doubt. "Is his father a better parent than I am? Am I really no fun?"

I've written about this before. It's true, I'm not the fun parent in our family. I'm the parent who goes out of my way to take the children to Target to pick out birthday presents for their friends, the one that wraps the presents and helps them make homemade cards. I'm the one that bathes them, feeds them, gets them into clean clothes and finds their shoes when they are lost so that they will be ready to leave for the party on time.

My husband is the man who actually takes them to the birthday parties. Usually this takes place while I am home cleaning our house and cooking. Yesterday for example, I cleaned and scrubbed for four hours while my husband and sons were at a fantastic birthday party.

Therefore, my son is right. I am not the fun parent and I am not as entertaining to be around as his father is.

What do I DO about this though? Even when I am trying to be fun... arranging playdates, taking he and his siblings to the park, taking them to theme parks, taking them shopping, taking them to the beach, painting with them, taking them to museums, taking them on "adventures"... even then, I'm never enough fun in his eyes.

It's kind of depressing as a parent to think that even when you are doing your best, your kids don't think your best is all that great.

I'm discouraged to realize that my son would perhaps prefer for me to be a full time working mother so that I could pay for him to attend private day camp, rather than spend his entire summer hanging out and going to do stuff with his siblings and me.

I guess this is one of those first big steps in the breaking away/growing up process... that time in which your parent ceases to be someone you admire and becomes someone you find mildly annoying.

Just yesterday his little brother came running up to me to let me know that, "Brother says that little people know more than big people do. You don't understand as much as we do, because you're grown up."

"WOW!" I exclaimed, laughing. "IT'S HAPPENING ALREADY? I DIDN'T THINK YOU GUYS WERE GOING TO THINK WE WERE UNCOOL UNTIL MIDDLE SCHOOL. REALLY? DO YOU KNOW MORE THAN YOUR DAD AND ME ALREADY?"

"Well, um, yeah!" the five year old smiled. "A little bit more."

"HONEY!" I cheered. "HONEY!" I skipped into my husband's home office. "The children are outgrowing us! It's happened! They know more than we do already ~ and they're only three and five!"

"Wow," he laughed. "That was fast!"

We played it up and made a funny joke out of it, but the underlying message was real and unchanged.

Our children are already seeing right through us. My son already thinks he knows more about life than we do. At the age of five he would already prefer to spend his summer in the company of a "cool" camp counselor than his mother.

Like I said at the beginning, I know this shouldn't hurt my feelings.

It does, though.

I gave the kid life less than six years ago and already I've lost my utility to him. Soon all he may value from me ~ for a time ~ will likely be my credit card and chauffeuring ability.

I never really understood the Shel Silverstein novel "The Giving Tree" until I became a mother. Now the book cuts me to the bone every time I read it aloud to my kids. To me, the tree represents a mother nurturing her child.

In the beginning of the story, the boy loves the tree and he wants to play with it all the time. He is never happier than when swinging from its branches and eating its apples. The tree is so happy too, because she loves the boy. This part of the story reminds me of my three year old son who always wants to cuddle on my lap and still thinks he wants to live with me for the rest of his life.

Then time passes and the boy begins to view the tree differently, seeing her more in terms of what she can give to him rather than what they can share together. He takes and takes and takes until she has nothing left to give. He virtually bleeds her dry, taking even her branches and her trunk.

In the end, when he is old-tired-sad, the boy returns to his tree/mother and reflects quietly on how much she has meant to him.

I hate this part of the story. I don't find it remotely comforting that the boy finally appreciates the stump that he'd left half for dead years before. I can tell you right now, I'm not going to let my children suck me dry physically or emotionally... at least not if I can help it!!!

Perhaps though, the tree in the novel knows more about parenthood than I do after less than six years as a mother. Maybe she understands that her role is to stay strong and solid throughout the boy's life, not allowing herself to get her feelings hurt when he repeatedly rejects her in favor of friends, money, girls and worldly desires.

I suppose it's true that the role of a mother is not to judge, but rather to love unconditionally. With that in mind...

...despite his occasional snide remarks and heartfelt viewpoint that I'm about as smart as a rock, I adore my little boy and I really *do* want him to have a good Summer vacation.

Who knows, maybe spending time with me will turn out to be more fun than he thinks! Either way, I'll keep ya posted.

January 18, 2011 ~ Day 40 Under The Microscope

"Mommy, can you play dollhouse with me?" With his sister napping upstairs and brother still at school, my three year old virtually oozed boredom.

I had been working on the computer for about twenty minutes while he ate lunch. We were sitting side by side, but I will tell you honestly that I wasn't talking with him very much. My attention was mainly focused on our current housing search, which intensified today when I was told by the preschool in our neighborhood-to-be that there is a waiting list of 13 children for one spot in their 4 year old class in the Fall... but that if we decided to have him start school there right away, a space is currently available and he would then become an automatically accepted "returning" student next year.

Understanding that time is truly of the essence with this move, I have redoubled my efforts to find the right home ~ which may have paid off this afternoon, I'll let you know. This (feebly) explains why I was almost totally ignoring the cherubic three foot high creature munching on peanut butter and strawberry jelly next to me.

When he asked me to play dollhouse though, it brought back reality and I accepted his invitation. He ran to the dollhouse with me following him leisurely, and we began to play.

"Look mommy, all of the children are upstairs." (The 'children': a blue bear and two My Little Pony dolls)

"Oh, what are they doing upstairs?"

"They are in time out. They have to sit in their rooms."

"Oh dear. That is very sad. Why are they in time out?"

"They were hitting each other and fighting. All of the children are in time out."

"I'm very sorry to hear it. Fighting is not good. If all of the children are in time out, who is that downstairs?" (Another bear - this one fluffy and purple - sat in the kitchen.)

"That is the mommy."

"Why is the mommy downstairs if the children are upstairs?"

"She is cooking. She is cooking their dinner."

"Will the children be able to come down and play with her soon?"

"No, the mommy is busy. She is cooking and working on the computer. She is too busy to play with them. The mommy is always busy."


...At which point, my heart sank into the floor and I once again nominated myself, won and accepted the award for worst mother of 2011. I've been so busy washing the laundry, cleaning the house, cooking meals and trying to figure out this move to another part of the city, I've managed once again to emotionally neglect the three little people I love the most. Has it come to this? My son is now acting out his sense of isolation and the desire to have me more fully present, using pink plastic ponies.

I was about to ask him what the mommy could do with her children that they would really enjoy, when the telephone rang. I could see on Caller ID that it was the agent for the property we are hot to rent... so rather than offering my child love, solace, creativity or understanding, I ended up walking into another room to take the call. Strike two.

Here is the worst part: He didn't even try to follow me or continue playing with me after I got off of the telephone. He is so used to being sidelined by his mom, he just pulled out some toy race cars and went about his business.

I keep telling myself that just as soon as I have the move in hand, things will calm down and I will be the mom of all of our dreams. As a fantasy mother I will play and talk with them for hours on end, take them on fun outings, cook them only organic meals, teach them how to read, and ferry them to sporting activities and lessons.

Realistically though, I don't know how or when my behaviors are ever going to change. I am not a patient person by nature. I have a very hard time sitting still to play make believe for twenty minutes when I know how much organization our house needs, when I know how far behind I am on the content writing work I do for my husband's company. I may be the stay-at-home part of our parenting team but I am generally *not* the fun parent... I typically have a list of chores that need to be accomplished and a mindset to tackle and get them done.

I have become the parent I always swore I would never be... dragging my children around town on errands that they hate, cajoling them with promises of parks and ice cream if they will just give me a half-hour of good behavior.

All the while, my three children are busy watching my every move, soaking up my every postponed promise, noticing my worst qualities and - perhaps most humiliating of all - sharing them openly with the world.

Seriously. The world. Every teacher, friend, babysitter, grandparent or random shopkeeper that my children decide to confide in at any given moment has been apprised of my many failings. I'll never forget the time my sons told the cashier at Kinkos that I don't like driving across the bridge near our house because I am scared of how high it is and that living in our house costs too much money. (As I turned beet red she came to my rescue by confiding that she too hates the bridge and thinks this town is too expensive.)

Our babysitter laughs about it and agrees that, "Oh yeah, they definitely share all the stuff with me that you would NEVER want anyone else to know". Ugh. This makes me fret even more, wondering just what kind of information they are sharing. My bathroom habits? My snoring or talking in my sleep? I wonder which strange tidbits of information about our family my children divulged to their teachers today! Just the other day the three year old told his teacher, "My brother says you snort when you laugh." Which she then relayed to me at pickup time, laughing. OMG! Yet another 'I could have melted into the ground' parenting moment.

Just this week, my other son's teacher approached my husband and said, "So, I hear you guys are moving and checking out kindergartens in other parts of town?" My husband was a bit flustered by the question seeing as he hadn't even told his own father yet that we were seriously looking for a new home.

"Oh?" he responded.

"Out of the mouths of five year olds."

I guess I should be grateful that my children wear their lives (and ours) on their sleeves. They are open, trusting, communicative little people who have not yet learned to self-censor. It's awesome that neither of them have gained an EDIT button yet. I always know what they are thinking and feeling, and if I don't know, I can simply ask and they will tell me.

"What are you hiding buddy?"

"It's a secret!!!"

"Oh yeah? What's the secret?"

Giggling hysterically... "I have candy in my hand! I stole candy from Daddy's secret candy! Heeheeheeheeheeheehee!!!"

This exchange is almost beautiful in its innocence. I adore the honesty, and while I know that it isn't likely to stay like this forever, I am grateful for every single moment that I am still invited into the inner circle of their thoughts and secrets.

With this privilege of peering within their hearts, though, comes the responsibility to view myself through their sometimes painfully accurate lens. My children see the real me ~ all the good, and all the bad. The fact that they are brave enough to tell me openly about my flaws makes me feel truly good about the level of trust between us.

I just hate seeing my flaws through their precious, perceptive eyes.



Photo by D Sharon Pruitt