Present Tense

Long ago I started working from home because I thought to be a good parent I had to be a 'present' parent. That's one thing when your kids are little and simply want to be around you, but as they get older, well, you are expected to do so much more. Before you know it, a 'present' parent morphs into an omnipresent parent. And in between the chaperoning and baking and teaching and guiding and advising and disciplining and volunteering, it's hard to stop and wonder if you are still doing the right thing.

Until recently, if someone would've asked me if staying home with my kids was the right thing, I would've answered without hesitation, "Yes, it's a good thing. They know they can rely on me. I am involved in their lives and their days. I know their whereabouts and activities."

But recently Jake has been in some trouble at school, and it's made me realize, quite suddenly, like it's the most novel idea in the world, that maybe he shouldn't be here with me in the afternoon. In one of the oldest cliches, I am a mother hen who is smothering her chick. At this point in his life, he needs some freedom, some independence. He needs his friends. He needs relationships that don't involve me or his siblings and playgrounds that are bigger than his front yard.

So this week we enrolled Jake in an after-school program. There is a wait list so I don't know when he'll start, but we will wait because it is a good program, filled with his friends and exercise and play. It will be strange when he isn't here in the afternoons, but I am optimistic and hopeful that this is the right thing for him.

And I'm reminded that quite often being a good parent is just as much about letting go as it is holding on.

Grading On a Curve

So today marks the end of another six weeks of school, which means report cards will be issued next week. For whatever reason (or reasons, all of which I'm aware) this has been a choppy six weeks for Sam. Academically, he's like a pot of boiling water; you have to check in on him frequently or bad things could happen. But you have to give the kid credit, he rallied in the last couple of weeks and pulled up what could've been abysmal grades. And he was proud of himself.

But Bryon, who if I haven't mentioned it here before, can sometimes be an ass. An insensitive, uncensored ass. And instead of saying, "That's great, Sam. You worked really hard these past couple of weeks," he chose to say, "You should be getting all A's."

This upset Sam. And while I understand (and agree with) Bryon's observation, I wholeheartedly disagree with his delivery. Maybe say, "I'm so glad you were able to pull up those grades. But I also want you to think about what would happen if you would apply yourself and work as hard all semester as you have these past couple of weeks."

But then again, give the kid a break. Apply yourself? Really? So Sam, have you practiced your guitar? Have you learned all your choir songs? Did you write that poem for poetry night? Have you memorized your speech in Gaelic? What's the area of a trapezoid? Have you made any friends? What about girls? How's your confirmation study going? Be polite. Sit up. Clean your room.

I think it is unfair for us (parents, me, Bryon, adults) to expect kids to apply themselves when we don't set the same example. We expect them to be "on" 24/7. Is being a kid so full of fun and frolic we expect they'll dive into everything we put in front of them with gusto? Because most adults aren't like that. If I applied myself, I would have written that children's book I started seven years ago. I would have rock-hard abs. I would play the flute and be a dancer. I could cook.

But instead I tend to let things go, and rally when something needs to get done. And you know what, it usually does. Does it matter that our entire dinner last night was cooked in the microwave? Not really. The kids ate and liked it. Does it matter that Sam didn't get all A's. Not really. He turned in his homework, recognized when he needed to up his game and he crossed the finish line.

That gets an A in my book.

Joke's On Me

So Sam has to wear a badge to school. A photo ID, actually, on a lanyard. He's expected to wear it every day and when he doesn't, he's fined $1. If he loses the badge, a replacement costs $5. We've paid a few fees, and replaced a couple of badges, but I thought we had the problem solved when we had the brilliant idea to hang his badge on the doorknob, where you literally have to touch it as you walk out the door.

But some mornings are just hectic enough that it is still possible to forget the badge. Like today. It's Friday, it's free dress day, it's Valentine's Day, a three-day weekend. Between the backpacks and lunch boxes and valentine boxes and teacher gifts and valentines, Sam walked right out the door without the badge. But since I have to go out last (otherwise both doors would be left wide open), I grabbed it. My passive-aggressive plan was to get all the way to the bus stop and ask Sam, "Do you have your lunch? Your phone? Your homework? Your BADGE?" And when the wave of panic washed over him I would hold up the badge. A-HA!

So I dropped Abby off. She had a special bounce in her step this morning because VALENTINES! Then, I swung around the corner and dropped Sam at his van. Then, around the last corner to drop Jake off, halfway down the sidewalk so he could walk in with his friend.

I drove home, thinking about my day's checklist, pulled the car in the driveway and got out of the car. And what fell on the ground at my feet? Sam's badge. I'd left it in my lap.

She's Got Skills

Abby recently started skating lessons, and based on her history with sports and organized activities of any kind, I wasn't sure how it would go. But I lured her in by promising a skating outfit if she finished out the 8 weeks (that was before I knew how much those ice skating outfits cost. Geesh. Are they designed by Bob Mackie?). She agreed and we are now on week 3.

And while she is slowly getting better, the best thing is that she doesn't want to quit. She doesn't complain about going, doesn't get upset when everyone beats her across the ice, doesn't look at me with those wounded deer eyes when she falls. She, as the song goes, gets back up, dusts herself off and starts all over again.

After Saturday's practice, both her coach and I told her how much she was improving and the best thing she could do was keep coming back. When the coach left, Abby turned to me, and very proudly said, "Now I have two skills. Ice skating and friendship."

Minding My Business

A couple of days ago I was waiting outside Jake's school at pick up when I ran into Sam's third-grade teacher, a teacher I really liked. She had two boys of her own, and I always thought she had that slightly weary look that a lot of moms of boys have. A resigned exhaustion I could relate to. Ever since he was her student she has referred to him as 'sweet Sam.'

And that's how the conversation started this week. "How's that sweet Sam?"

So I told her. Sweet Sam, these days, would be better described as Sour Sam. Homework is his enemy, his dad and I don't want him to have any fun, his teachers are out to get him. I'm getting a glimpse of the gloomy teenager that will be living with us soon.

About that time Jake came out and I left, without really thinking about our conversation. Later that night I told Sam I'd talked to her and she and I commiserated about our boys and our diminishing status in their lives.

Yesterday when Sam got home from school Jake handed him a note, folded, written on notebook paper. It was a note from his teacher. I really wanted to read that note. I followed Sam around and insisted he show it to me. And then I stopped. It was none of my business. Backing off was the best thing I could do. I can imagine what it said. I can hope it was something encouraging and sympathetic and maybe even kind about me. The only ones who will ever know are the teacher and my 'sweet' Sam.