The True Cost of a Fifth Grade Social

My ten year old needs money.

In the worst way, too. You see, there's a fifth-grade social tonight in our town and it costs ten dollars to get in. Our family policy is that mom and dad will pay half of the entrance price for school sponsored activities such as this, and the kids need to come up with the other half. She receives a five dollar allowance each week if she completes her chores without being asked--and yes, I know some child specialists frown on that, but I have my reasons--and she's known about this social for two weeks. Her allowance is broken down to one dollar into savings, another to charity or church, and three to do with as she wishes.

She has been gathering pennnies and quarters around her room for the last week. Instead of just doing her stuff for two weeks, she still lives in the world of magical thinking and planning; the world where five bucks shows up on your sidewalk an hour before you need it. Today, as she spent her time playing on the computer, watching television, and talking on the phone, she seemed oblivious to the fact that she was still lacking in funds.

She has four chores to do each day, altogether taking approximately ten to fifteen minutes to complete. The agreement is that for her to receive allowance, she needs to get her stuff done before she does anything else--phone, computer, tv, friends, etc. And yet at four this afternoon, she was lounging on the phone, trying to find out the time of the social from a friend.

She knew the rules. She knew the consequences, even if she didn't want to accept them. And when she saw my face, she got off the phone.

"I'm taking care of my stuff right now," she said.

"It's too late," I said.

I heard her begin to cry and I left the room.

My daughter is an incredibly bright little girl. She is sweet and smart and loving. But she is the most disorganized and procrastinating person I've ever met. I wonder if she'll end up on that show Hoarders one day because she can't seem to part with anything. For as long as I've known her, I could always tell where she was because she leaves a path in her wake. I remember being similar as a child in the sense that I was not a good organizer. I still suck at it and I still procrastinate. But certain things we don't procrastinate on. Certain thing--such as central areas of the house, picking up one's own stuff, running errands that have to be completed, and caring for one another--are expected and routine.

My mother was the kind of parent who would have gone crazy with this child's behavior. She could barely tolerate MY mess, and mine was so much less than my daughter's. Disorganization is my mother's biggest pet peeve, and has been her entire life, I think. To this day, whenever we visit, she is constantly rearranging things. Order makes her feel comfortable in her home, and I get that. Disorganization makes her feel nutty. Screaming, yelling, punishments, constant nagging were part of her repertoire when things were out of order. But the worst I remember is my perception of her disappointment--that I wasn't good enough for her. That I couldn't do it right, and even when I tried, I failed. I spent a large part of my childhood feeling disengaged from my parents and as though I was a disappointment to them. Whether it was cleaning my room or completing my chores or even my weight--from my perspective, I let everyone down. It took me a long time of healing and many years as an adult to understand that most parents--including my own--do the best they know how to do at the time. Sometimes we excel and sometimes we don't. But most of us keep on trying, determined to do better by our children than was done by us.

Which brings me back to the child at hand. This child is one that I could spend my day nagging. That I could take away all privileges until everything is done to my satisfaction. That I could bribe with extra rewards for appropriate behavior. But I choose not to. I chose to let her choose what would happen tonight. And my gut tells me that if she makes this choice enough, she won't make it again.

Parenting is tough stuff and definitely not for the faint of heart. Parenting children with special needs or rough starts in life can be even tougher. I understand her need to keep things, so I shut her bedroom door and wait for opportunities like this one to rear their heads and motivate room cleaning. There's too many other things to think about, to worry about, to insist upon. With children like mine, consistency and structure are super important. When they were young, we followed a schedule to the letter and it helped them internalize some structure and feel some safety that they had never had before. As they have gotten older, the structure has loosened but we tighten it again when it's feeling too loose and there are problems arising. But another thing that I've learned is that compassion and trust are just as important. I can't expect any person, much less a child, to respect my opinion when the need for rules overrides everything else. Listening to my daughter's honest tears earlier was painful. I hurt in my gut. I wanted to say, "Why did you do this? Why would you make this choice? You KNEW what would happen and you're smart enough to keep it from happening!" But the answer to that is that she's just a kid. And she's impulsive and not the best planner. She struggles with disorganization and magical thinking. We talked about it. We commiserated over the choice she made. We snuggled and watched a little tv.

So instead of a social with her friends, she's doing her chores and hanging with me. We'll pick up something for dinner and watch some tv and enjoy each other's company. I'm definitely not as cool as a social. But I can hear her, independently, completing her chores as I write this. And I'm proud of her, either way. Because even though she demonstrated some irresponsibility three hours ago, now she's demonstrating character--and to me, that rocks.

Unfluffy Superheros

When I began this blog, I never imagined I would spend so much time writing about certain TV shows. Granted this is only my sixth entry, but I think Criminal Intent shows up in maybe half of them so far. If you've actually bothered to read any of this blog, you are probably thinking right about now, "This girl needs a life!"

I am proud to say that unlike some blogs out there, mine is not completely dedicated to fictional characters or the real life actors who play them. However, escapism is a powerful thing for some people, and if I'm itching to escape for a little while, I like to do so with characters that make me think. I've mentioned before that I'm a huge fan of Law and Order Criminal Intent, but I didn't start out that way. Initially I hated the show--the setup, the actors, the scripts, everything left me cold. Then sometime a couple years ago I was cleaning the bedroom and flipped it on...and started following the show.

The character of Bobby Goren is one that most people either love or can't stand. He comes across as arrogant and manipulative. He's goofy and awkward and knows everything about everything. And to most women, he's not even good looking. That's what I hear from my friends who can't stand him. I remember, in the recesses of my mind, feeling that way at one time too, until I got to see the character develop. Until I got to understand the back story. Until I saw the loyalty between the partners. Until the scripts captivated my attention and it all wove together and it clicked with something inside me. This is a character who is extremely flawed. He's a superhero who's not super or a hero--he's an ordinary guy with his own quirks, his own strengths and weaknesses. Just like me. And that's why I love him so...because I understand his point of view. It's not the strengths of the character that draw me in; it's the human nature of his weaknesses and his fears that make him identifiable, and that he is able to proceed despite those weaknesses and make the world better. (Thank you, quality writers!)

Most of the internet world at this point--and certainly Criminal Intent fans--have heard by now that USA plans to dump Bobby, Alex, and Captain Ross somewhere other than the major case squad in the spring. It all boils down to money and obviously it's a lot cheaper to pay the new guy a lower salary than the guy (or in this case, a guy and a girl) who's worked for you for eight years. I get basic economics. But what I don't get is the statement USA network has made regarding their desire to have "lighter fare" on their network. Apparently the depth of character that makes Goren (as well as his partner Eames) so appealing is too dark for most viewers, at least according to USA.

Some fans, in vehement protest of the above attitude and in support of the show, have sent postcards and emails begging the network to reconsider. My favorite idea came from one blogger who intends to inundate the network with jars of marshmallow fluff at the beginning of filming this month, in protest of "fluffing" the show. I'm curious as to exactly how many jars of fluff they'll receive, and what they will do with them. Will they donate them to a food pantry? Or go home and eat a lot of s'mores and nutterfluffer sandwiches?

I'm disturbed by the fact that I'm now in an age bracket that doesn't influence network decisions. But I'm also disturbed by the apparent idea that so many Americans can't handle anything but "feel good" tv, or simple scripts, or no script at all. That what we watch and what we want to watch needs to be written in a way that the depth of the character doesn't matter. That life as you or I experience it doesn't happen on television--it only happens to us.

Knowing that a character has a drug addict for a brother, a hospitalized schizophrenic for a mother, and no father to speak of; knowing that for some unannounced reason he's unable to sustain intimate relationships (hmm); knowing he puts 100% of himself in his job so that he can be successful at something in life; to me, that's a superhero. I know people like him, who against all odds, succeed in this world. It's every hope and prayer for my son, isn't it? Despite the realities of a life that could have produced a complete loser, this guy Goren chooses to get up every morning and do his job and make the world a better place. He's got strong morals and is a decent person. No, he's not action-packed, fast moving, lean, mean, hot, and twenty-something. He's not snagging the babe at the end of every show. But I get him. I get Goren's character and motivation and pain and struggle and depth.

And shame on USA for letting him go.

Bonding and Outrage

As I logged on to aol this evening, an article caught my eye. The catch line was something along the lines of "Mom's decision angers many", then proceeded to note that an adoptive mother returned her adopted eighteen month old after a year. Having a keen sense of deja-vu, I clicked and read the article.

Apparently the mother in question (and apparently the father, although no one mentions him) filed to adopt an infant that was abandoned literally on the side of the road. After a year of attempting to bond with the child, the parents realized that they were not successful and chose to return the baby, now eighteen months. The reporter clearly had some extreme reactions to the parents' choices--including comments such as, "What exactly could an eighteen-month old baby do that would inhibit bonding?"

I don't know about the child in question. But I know about my own. I know his fragile disposition, his neediness, his inability to play independently or even constructively. I know the chronic crying sprees where nothing is comforting, the fear in his eyes of every potential misstep, the lack of responsiveness to any of my inherent nurturing instincts. And I know it gets worse as he gets older.

Every challenge I have faced with my son has made me question my abilities as a parent. If it weren't for my daughter I would be convinced that despite my master's degree in early childhood education, despite my experience working with hundreds of kids with diverse backgrounds and needs, despite teaching at-risk children who lived lives I can only imagine in my nightmares, I would be convinced I am a bad mother. Good mothers have a loving relationship with their children. Good mothers don't pray for their screaming child to fall asleep so that everyone can rest. Good mothers are supportive and caring and never have negative thoughts about their children. Good mothers know what to do when children veer off course.

My list of traits that define good mothering is rather extensive and certainly the list above is not exhaustive. It has been pointed out to me on more than one occasion that my definition of a good mother is not only high, but rather unachievable. As an educator, I realize this on a logical level. Of course all parents make mistakes. We often don't know how to meet unrecognizable or nonverbal needs. We struggle to help children make good choices, and yes, even the most excellent parents I know occasionally have a negative thought about their kids.

What makes their experiences so different than mine? It's what I share with the mother who has angered many--the lack of bonding with my child. My son is, to some degree, unable to form a stable emotional bond. Not only with me, but with anyone. It took me years to figure out that it wasn't because of me and some fault in my parenting that kept him from attaching. The fact that he needed me--to know where I was, when I would be back, who I would be with, at all times--was not the same as him being comfortable with me. Neediness that is neverending can easily become an albatross around the comforter's neck. An infant's neediness is fundamental and understanding. And it lasts for awhile, then the infant develops skills that allow him to become less needy, more independent. My son is, for all intents and purposes, emotionally an infant. At age twelve, he needs constant reassurance that I am in the same space as him, that I am safe, that I am predictable. And he wears that albatross as well--it is a heavy weight that binds the two of us together.

I would not trade one minute of my life with my child. He is smart and funny and a tremendous blessing. He is someone, in his good moments, who exhibits an amazing capacity for empathy and compassion. I cannot begin to imagine my life without him, nor would I want to. My son has taught me so many lessons about life, about love, about myself. But I grieve for the child he could have been, had he been given the start in life that every baby deserves...a loving, responsive adult who could nurture his needs from day one.

I pray that eighteen-month old finds the right family to love him, to nurture him, to grow his brain and his body and his soul. Every child deserves to have those needs met--it is our right as human beings to be loved and nurtured and treated with dignity. But I also pray for the parents who made a heartwrenching decision...to give a child whose needs they knew they weren't meeting to another family. To give him a second chance to bond and grow. I clearly don't live in the hearts and minds of those parents, but I would imagine this decision was a torturous one for them. No matter what, the decision to give up a child is a painful one. But knowing that children must, MUST bond with a caregiver before age three to have secure attachments, I can't find fault with parents who know they are unable to achieve that task and make a moral decision to give a child another chance. God willing, that toddler will find a loving home--and loving arms--to help him bond.

Flu-cinations and boredom

I've got the flu. Not the swine flu, thank goodness, but the normal flu, the one I take a shot to avoid every year. Only nobody offers a shot for the flu in September because people don't usually GET the flu in September.

So here I sit, on bedrest through tomorrow, bored out of my brain, insanely tired but not sleepy. Having the flu isn't something I recall dealing with since I was a kid, before the flu shot was available. And I'm bored--did I mention that already? I've done everything I can think of doing from my bed. I've googled all sorts of stuff I've wondered about and thought of more stuff to google than ever before. I've watched more tv than I ever dreamed possible, and most of it was inane, insane crap! I've tried to wash clothes and keep up with stuff around the house, but it's practically impossible when you're dizzy and people are following you around, spraying the hallway with Lysol.

Well, here are some of the things I've learned since having the flu.

First, I never knew anyone could be as self-absorbed at an adult age as the women on The Real Housewives of Atlanta. I only watched five minutes of it before I began to feel nauseous (now I honestly don't know if it was the show or the flu that caused that). Either way, it's quite impressive that Bravo was able to find not just one but five or six adult women in one city who are so self-centered and ridiculous. I guess really it's more a sad commentary on our times, but in a weird way I have to give props to Bravo. Somebody had serious self-confidence to even propose such a show.

Next, I didn't realize so many people wrote weird sex stories about pretend characters from TV shows. All of my googling has led me to learn about all sorts of story sites regarding different shows, one of my favorites being Criminal Intent. Being curious, of course, and in my flu-cination state, I had to read a few. That got me wondering about what people really think about the characters. I mean, who REALLY believes that if Goren and Eames were real people they would be doing it? Like really? That she's looking at his butt and he's looking at...well, you get the point. It makes me wonder if I've been asleep all these years, because the only thing I've ever seen Goren salivate over is the idea of interrogation. And I have to believe that Eames would not make it through one date without slapping him. But again, if it's fiction, I guess anything goes.

Here's another thing I've learned. My dog sleeps a lot. Like, maybe eighteen hours a day. She's only two years old, for God's sake. Is that normal? I guess I should google that.

Okay, one more. How is it possible to have sixty some odd channels on your television and not one single thing is on that you can bear to watch? Even my favorites are getting on my nerves. If I have to see that Criminal Minds episode with the couple on death row one more time, I'm going to hurl from something other than this flu!!!

Hopefully I'll be back to work in another day or so. Anything that gets me away from this prison is worth it! Don't get me wrong--I'm thankful the doctor caught it quickly, that I haven't infected people, that I'm on tamiflu and it's a relatively benign illness at this point, and that I'm well off enough to have a comfy bed, a tv to watch, my dog and the fam to keep me company, and internet access.

Oh look...another episode of Criminal Minds...and it's not the couple on death row...

Beauty and the Bella

My ten-year old is sick. She has been sick for two weeks now, with some sort of mild sore-throat viral thing that the doctor initially thought might be mono. Well, now we know it's not mono but that doesn't make me feel any better because I don't know how to make her feel better.

I adore my son. For all of the challenges we face together, he is an amazing child and we are determined to guide and nurture him. But my daughter? My relationship with her is so different than with him. She is truly the Yin to my Yang, the Beavis to my Butthead. What I work so hard to have with my son comes so naturally with my daughter.

When she first arrived, she was not quite two, a tornadic ball of energy who was angry and scared. By the time she reached two and a half, with the help of a wonderful play therapist, she was my little girl. And she and I have been peaches and cream ever since. The best part of sending her to preschool as a little girl was picking her up. She would run to me, arms out, laughing and calling, "Mama!" If you've never experienced it, that is the perfect ending to a day.

Now she's ten, her last year in elementary school. She's smart and funny, tall and beautiful. My nickname for her is "Bella"--the italian word for beauty--and it sums her up pretty well. She is also curious, precocious, challenging, questioning, and at times smart-alecky. But when I look at her and I think about who she was, who she is, and who she will be, all I see is Beauty.

I do worry about chasing boys off. I worry about keeping her focused on a good path, guiding her through the next several years, and maintaining the close relationship we have right now. But I know that she is a great kid. She has a lot of love. She gives a lot of love. When I look at her, I often think how amazing she is. And that....bella.

Criminal Minds and Intents

Today is Labor Day, and in honor of all the labor that we do every day of the year, I am un-laboring. A&E is having a Criminal Minds marathon and I'm watching it, snug in my pj's, curled up with my dog and a piece of DiGiorno pizza, listening to my ten-year old chat on the phone.

Criminal Minds has got to be one of the sickest shows on network TV. It never ceases to amaze me how far this show will push the envelope regarding what it airs. Certainly there are criminals out there with far more horrible ideas and minds (and crimes!) than this show airs, but I still recoil in horror when I see some of the things they show. For this very reason, it's one of only two shows on tv I don't allow my children to watch--the other show being Rock of Love (or any form of it--call it guilty pleasure but it really blows my mind to see that people actually live that way!).

So why am I spending labor day watching this show? Because I can! And because it intrigues me. My absolute favorite show on the planet, until recently, was Law and Order Criminal Intent. I have a thing for Vincent D'Onofrio. Especially in earlier episodes, when he was extremely physical in his acting and could convey a mood or a thought with his body language. He also has the largest and most well-groomed hands I have ever seen on a man. The fact that his character is somewhat of a genius while being a little bit dorky (and not giving a damn about it) makes him fantastic. What a guy. My husband thinks my crush is hysterical and never wastes the opportunity to make fun of the "man with the broken neck" (as they so lovingly refer to him in one episode). Well, laugh away, my dear husband...I still have my Bobby Goren!

Since A&E has been showing Criminal Minds the last several weeks, I've been weirdly fascinated by it all. The characters are so interesting, the storylines unbelievable but intriguing. It makes me wonder what it would be like to be a detective. In real life I'm a teacher, and I not only love my job, but I rock it. I'm extremely good at what I do. But if I got the chance to trade places with one of those detectives for a day in fantasyland, I'd do it in a heartbeat...just guarantee me that my heart would still be beating when I came back!

Heroes

I've always loved to write. I guess I'm a big rambler too, so a blog seems like a perfect place to post my thoughts. As I begin this process, I'm imagining nobody will ever read this, which is fine with me, but in case someone does, that will be okay too.

My insides are churning regarding my life. Decisions surround every facet of what I do, every day, and I often worry that I make the wrong ones. Some decisions--like choosing appropriate preschool snacks or how much time I let my youngest spend watching TV today--are relatively minor in consequence and worry. Yet the big decisions--what will happen to my oldest as he faces dealing with an incredibly challenging disability, what will happen with my job as I reinterview for a new position, what will happen with our family as we receive the results of my husband's bar exam--seem overwhelming. Quite frequently on my mind is my twelve-year old. His struggles with emotional turmoil and physical/mental limitations are enormous at times and overwhelming. His list of diagnoses are never-ending, depending on the doctor and the day. He has been my most difficult challenge in life, and has made me rethink everything from my career to my living situation to motherhood. And yet, he is in so many ways my hero. Despite his struggles and his illness, his labels and his prognoses, he pushes through each day and continues to believe in me as his mother. That despite his internal doubts about himself and me, that I will always love him. That he belongs with me and my husband and his sister in our home.

Reactive attachment disorder was a label I first heard of eight and a half years ago when I brought this sweet child home. Of course this was a possible problem for him; he had spent the first three years of his life bouncing around in different situations. But his desire to be with me was so strong, and he was so sweetly loving in those first few years, I didn't believe the label fit. However, there were things that were incredibly offputting; the need to be with me nonstop; his inability to play in any organized fashion; his lack of attachment to other adults who cared for him. Even then there were emotional outbursts that made him emotionally needy--he needed me to help him and be with him and never leave him without thorough explanations of where I would be going and when I would be back. And the tears that followed every time I left...over the years would fill a river. And the guilt and frustration I felt in leaving him that never left me. Over and over we would dance the dance, yet we never got better at it.

Now I look at this pubescent child on the cusp of adolescence and I worry what the future will hold for him. Will I be able to continue to do my job as his mother? Will I have the strength and fortitude to insist that he receive the treatment that he needs even if it means a hospitalization for up to a year three hours from our home? Can they guarantee me this child will have a better chance at life if we do make these sacrifices?

You see, in the end I don't care if he has a great job, a nice house, even a good partner. I don't even worry so much that he feels happy instead of sad. What I worry most about is that he can feel contentment. Never in his life has he felt content. And that is what I want for him more than anything else...contentment.

In the meantime, we will continue to plod along and do what we can to form an attached, functional family unit despite the limitations and restrictions of this disorder. We will love and we will laugh and we will have faith in God and His love and healing. And when my child feels weak, he will remember how much I believe in him, and hopefully give it another try. And when I have nights like this one, I will remember his belief in me. And I'll try to live up to what my little hero expects.