Work wagering

Our family has a (possibly apocryphal) story about my great-grandmother Elsie. She had nine daughters and, naturally, it was essential that everyone chip in and do their part to keep the household going. One morning she discovered that one of the daughters hadn't done her work. Known for her spunk, my great grandma marched over to the school where they were gathered for their morning assembly.  She wrote a little note and it was passed from hand to hand all the way up to the front where the principal read it aloud: "Please send ____ home to come complete her unfinished work." (Someone in the family please correct me...this is the gist of it but I don't remember the particulars.)

. . .

Well, this one's for you, Elsie:

Yesterday I discovered that certain smaller people in the house didn't do their prep-for-guests jobs that they were asked to do this weekend. Now, maybe they wagered that, since it's kind of important to have clean bathrooms for guests, I would just go ahead and do their jobs for them.

They wagered wrong!

Nothing a little sign can't fix.

I don't think they were sufficiently embarrassed though, at least not enough to commence cleaning. I may have to resort to marching to the school... So basically what we have is a work standoff. Who's going to blink first?

What works in your house to get the crew working?

A sad conversation

Sunday night I was chatting with Sam on the sofa. He was having those oh-so-familiar-to-me Sunday night blues, dreading piano lessons (he hadn't practiced much) and homework and saying goodbye to the weekend. 

We talked for a while and then lapsed into silence for a few moments.

"Is there anything else bothering you? You still seem pretty upset."

Silence, a shrug.

"Anything at school you want to talk about? Or with friends?"

Silence, an exhale, his eyes shifted to mine.  "I guess it's just... [pause]...I mean...[pause]... Halloween just doesn't feel as fun as it used to be. We used to have so much fun" [chin quiver].

Being 12 is hard, that cusp between childhood and teenhood. The magic of childhood kind of leaves you in the dust, wondering where it all went. I remember being about his age and feeling like things didn't quite live up to my memories and expectations anymore. I felt bereft.

Add to that, being the youngest child is also difficult--everyone moves on to their next thing and leaves you wishing for more of what you long for: childhood, family time, games running around outside, skeletons and ghosts and decorations, the more the better.  Instead, he watches his sisters come home from school+activities and head for the books, the computer, the phone. No wonder!  (Also: Sorry, Chris, my youngest brother. It must have been hard for you, too.)

My heart broke a little for Sam. The lack of Halloween decorations (we do have a pumpkin on the porch! One!) symbolizes how much we've forgotten in the rush of school routines: the fun! the silliness! We used to have so much fun was a really good reminder (or indictment?) that our whole life doesn't have to be about leaf projects and college applications and work/school/obligations. There's the basic joy of living life, too.  I know this but I wasn't doing it.

Sorry, buddy. Now where did I put those black crows and skeletons?

. . .

Do you remember a time when some of the shine went out of things? What do you think about how birth order affects the kind of (length of) childhood someone experiences?

The Blessing of a B Minus

If you have children between 11 and 20 (or if you plan on your kids reaching those ages, for that matter), go get this book right now. Mogel's take on parenting teens is compassionate, wise, and inspired. Much like her earlier book The Blessing of a Skinned Knee, which was geared toward parents of younger children, Mogel draws from her understanding of Jewish teachings to reframe some of the challenges teens face (and the associated frustrations of parenting them) into blessings. 

In The Blessing of a B Minus, Mogel reminds us of, among others:

~The blessing of strange fruit: Accepting the unique glory of your teen

~The blessing of a B minus: The real lessons of homework, chores, and jobs

~The blessing of problems to solve: Learning from bad judgment and stress

~The blessing of breaking the rules: Real life as ethics lab

 Am I Jewish? No. And you don't have to be either to thoroughly enjoy this book. The ideas that Mogel discusses are universal and accessible for all.  For example, she uses the story of the Israelites' wandering in the desert with Moses. She notes that the presence of God was a "'pillar of cloud by day...and a pillar of fire by night.' This beautiful image is a model for parents whose children are wandering in the wilderness of adolescence. Like God, you stand by, providing shade and light when needed, but mostly you stand back. You wait to see if your child can solve problems on his own before stepping in; you let him experience the natural consequences of his poor decisions; and you give him the freedom to make mistakes, even big ones."

As the parent of three children (12, 14, 17) it's a great relief to read such a wonderful book that eases some of the anxieties we parents face during this stage of parenting. As a doctoral student studying parenting and child development, I'm just a little jealous I didn't write this! 

[edited to say: I should add that I don't completely mesh with one of the chapters, The Blessing of the Hangover, and some of you might not either. There are still great insights in that one; I just try to keep my teens further away from those mistakes than perhaps some parents do. Having said that, I still think teaching and then stepping away and allowing teens to make decisions (and mistakes) is what these years are all about.]

. . .

~ My friend Bridget agreed to be interviewed and has some great things to say about being a new student-mom returning to grad school. Catch it here.

~ Also, a request.  I have been working hard at launching a new idea, one that's actually been simmering for over a year now.  I'm not quite ready to go public but if you'd be willing to act as a virtual focus group and give feedback, I would be so grateful. Just say so in the comments or send me an email (basic.annie@gmail.com) and I'll let you know what you can do.  Then I'll find a way to show you my undying gratitude.

The Leaf Project

In our local high school, every freshman science class is given a legendary, huge project every fall: The 50 Leaf Project. The students are given a list of 50 types of trees in our region and then they each have to (a) find the trees, (b) gather a leaf from and do a write-up for each one (and take pictures for extra credit) and (c) assemble it all into a portfolio at the end of the eight weeks, when they (d) are tested on identifying all of them. It's a high school rite of passage.

Okay, I can see how it's a great project. Fantastic for the kids to learn to identify so many trees. Wonderful experience to learn how to manage your time with a big project. Fabulous excuse to get out in the beautiful New England autumn scenery.  For example, this last Saturday, I drove Maddy and two friends to the Arnold Arboretum (where they filled Maddy's camera with relevant and less relevant photos):

And yet.  Truly, it's every freshman family's evil fall nemesis. It takes a lot of weekend searching to find all 50 trees, some of them quite rare.  Maddy's done a great job of incrementally gathering and recording but she's still haunted by 10 remaining leaves.

10 leaves. By Monday.

I want my 10 leaves.  Remember Better Off Dead and the two dollars? That's how we are all feeling about those 10 leaves right about now. You're on notice, eastern hophornbeam, norway pine, and honey locust.

Anyone else have huge "family homework" projects?

Growing pumpkins

Here's what I want to know:  What happened to these little pumpkins?

October 1999, Alexandria, Virginia

Seriously, where did they go?

Because, back then, we would take this kind of fall weekend and go on a hayride.  We would pick out pumpkins and take long moseying walks. We'd stomp through the leaves and then pick them up and look at their veins and make crayon rubbings of them. Maybe someone would throw a tantrum, maybe not.  But life had a bountiful, easy quality; what we lacked in emotional regulation we made up for in time.

Those squishy cheeks. The little buttons I helped fasten. The chirpy, high voices. The feathery gosling hair.

It's enough to make a gal's womb ache. 

This weekend is beautiful--I know this because I have seen a lot of it through the car windows as I shuttle people hither and yon.   A small sampling of activities: Last night G and Sam went to the ward campout in New Hampshire and the girls had a high school football game. Today Maddy is off early on a seminary field trip to Vermont and Lauren is taking her final SATs. After picking up everyone, they come home for a bit and then all have plans tonight in various places.

Where's the justice? Just when they get so interesting and potty-trained (okay, that was a while ago) and hilarious and can make their own sandwiches, they are almost suddenly scarce around here. It's true what they say: the (early) days are long but the (later) years are short.

In the meantime, I guess I'll head to Costco. They do, after all, still manage to eat quite a bit around here.

p.s. I'm totally going to make them recreate that photo sometime soon. Humor a mama, kids. 

. . .

Listen:  Ashokan Farewell  ~ The Civil War documentary