What I Learned as an Elementary School Parent

Tomorrow will end the 16 school years I have spent as an elementary school parent.  I will most certainly be shedding a few tears: some proud, some sad, and some even filled with joyful relief at an ending that’s been a long time coming. 

I will miss being an elementary school parent.  It has been at least a part-time job over the last decade and a half: room parent, volunteer, parent teacher group board member, site council president etc.  It all took time and energy.  And like a seasoned player, just maybe a bit past her prime, I leave it with some hard-earned confidence, maturity and a little relief.

Along the way it was impossible not to pick up a few things. I leave with the following knowledge.

Always go straight to the source.  I learned this embarrassingly early in my parent life.  Kindergarten with my oldest son, 1999– first week of school.  I questioned the teacher’s discipline technique….to the principal.   Of course she found out about my “complaint” and as she was a seasoned teacher, she approached me about it the very next day.  She explained, thoroughly, what I may have misinterpreted. She also made it pretty clear – without outright saying it – that I should have come to her first.  She was gracious about it.  She taught me how to be the kind of parent who works with teachers, as part of a team – not on opposite sides.  From all I have heard from my teacher friends, and from my children’s teachers too, one of the most taxing parts of the teaching profession today is dealing with parents who don’t support you. 

Kindergarten teachers know everything about you and your family. There are very few secrets.  Young children can be brutally honest.  And they see and hear more than you can even imagine.  So treat your teacher with great kindness.  Chances are, she knows some good dirt on you.

Little children have no qualms about farting in public.  Ever. 

Kids can be mean.  First grade boys, I’m talking about you.  Fifth grade girls? Yep, you too. There is a reason why “Lord of the Flies” is still taught today in high school.  Kids can be downright nasty.  Part of being a parent is to dry those tears caused by hurt feelings and exclusion.  It is a part of life that no parent *wants* to teach – but it happens to everyone.  If it hasn’t happened yet….it will. 

Kids can be extraordinarily compassionate.  The child who doesn’t speak in kindergarten? She will have friends who help her.  The child who has braces on her legs and can’t run? She will have friends who make up games that she can play.   The 6^th grader who doesn’t have a partner for the field trip? Someone will step up and step in with grace.

Nothing is ever accomplished by criticizing a child to his or her mother.  Even if it is “constructive” criticism. 

Groups of women can get anything done.  On a shoe-string budget.  In a small amount of time.  They can move mountains – or make them out of paper as decorations for the school play.  Nothing is impossible. 

Groups of women do not work well together.  Yes, I said it.  Yes, it’s true. 

A love of reading cannot be taught.  Reading can be taught. Love of books can be fostered and encouraged, but love ultimately comes from within each child.  Not from the parent.

No Child Left Behind did not work.  And it is my belief that Common Core will not work either.

Children learn best in small groups and small teacher to student ratios. 

Never volunteer in the classroom after lunch.  There is a reason why the veteran 6^th grade teacher doused himself in heavy cologne for years: kids smell.  Kids smell bad.  Even little ones.  The combination of black asphalt smudges, little kid sweat and leftover lunch bag smell is too powerful a combination for one’s senses.

Let your first grader take ownership of the diorama.  Let your 5^th grader take ownership of the Science Project. They can do it.  Back off.  Let them work it out on their own.  I will admit that this is extra hard.  Especially if you are crafty.  It took me a LONG time to get this concept.  But the pride they feel will go farther than any need you have to control the project.

The crossing guard, janitors and lunch ladies are the unsung heroes of the elementary school world.

Make friends with the office manager.

Never attempt to understand the complex rules of four-square.  Just nod your head and fake your comprehension.

Morning drop-off and afternoon pick-up bring out the very worst in humanity.  For the love that is all good and true….leave home 5 minutes early.  Don’t ever be *that* parent.  You know the one.  The one who makes the U-turn in the school zone.  The one who doesn’t follow the valet rules (PULL.  ALL. THE. WAY. FORWARD. Junior will survive walking 10 extra steps!) The one who jaywalks and stops traffic.  (Dads….I’m looking at you.  Please use the crosswalks.  Please model this safe behavior.)  The one who parks in a red zone next to the safety cones – blocking traffic.  The one who doesn’t think the sign “No Student Drop Off – Faculty Only” applies to them. 

I will miss this elementary school.  I will miss the people in it.  I will miss helping kids learn how to use scissors, write their names and make a clay monster.  I will miss reading to them and giving make-up spelling tests.  I will miss the art projects and the plays.  The reading logs and the journals.  I will miss the connection that I had as a volunteer to my children at school. 

Tomorrow is a big day for our family.  We say goodbye to a piece of our collective lives – one of the few constants this growing and changing family has had.  Bittersweet.  All 16 years of it.

To Lose

"Lose" is a word that has been bothering me lately.

Especially when it refers to death.

The verb itself declares itself as active.  One actively does this verb.  Not passive.

So to use this verb, the subject actively does it.

And with that, a sense of responsibility comes.  Culpability.  Ownership of the act.

Which I reject when it comes to "losing" a child to death.  I'm OK with ownership and culpability if you lose your child at Disneyland.  Ultimately, you are responsible for where your child ends up - wandering tendencied child or not.  And ultimately, the child is found.  But why is this word used for death?  Of the -too many now- parents I have known who have "lost" children, none of them actively "lost" them.  The children were taken.  By circumstance.  By accident.  By illness.  But the parents didn't DO anything to lose their children.  

How can you  *lose* something that was *taken* from you?  The act defies both definitions.  

Yes, I'm being picky and focusing on one part of the definition of the word "lose".  Yes, there are other nuances to the word.  But words are powerful.  And we use "lose" more often to explain something that we did - actively did.  And there is power to that.  Unwritten.  Hidden.  Negative power to using this word in response to death.  

So I have a really hard time with this word.  And I really wish I could come up with a better one. Perhaps I will have to turn to another language.  English is woefully inadequate for me on this subject.

Mother knows best

The movie trucks are gone - which means classes must be starting at COC. After weeks of driving around roped off areas and listening to stories of "guess who was on campus today" Spring Semester has begun and now the parking lots are full of students and their horrible driving/parking "skills".

Aidan is now back to his 8 class courseload. The three college classes will significantly add to his workload - which has been light so far this year. Math started yesterday - and he was witness to the ever-present California budget crisis as his teacher ("You can call me Bob") had to ask waitlisted course-crashing hopeful students to leave the class, as it was already too full. I'm not sure of the wisdom of having my 15 year old boy refer to his teacher as "Bob" - this could easily backfire with Aidan's 'issues with authority' personality. Or it could be genius.

History of Animation is his other academic college class - fulfilling both a-g and IGETC requirements, I think. Luckily, the counselor at his high school knows WAY more than I do about such things. Aidan is looking forward to the class - which is a great sign.

The class that he's the least excited for? PE. And this is where he needs to trust his mother. He's in Ballroom Dancing for PE. Ballroom. How amazingly awesome is that??? He doesn't see it yet. But he will. It might take a few years, but someday he is going to come to me and thank me for taking this class. He'll get a glimpse of it's power when he asks a girl to dance and doesn't look like a moron. And then he'll see it even more when the girls/women (later) realize that he *can* *dance* and will want to dance with him. And pursue him. And be happy to dance with him. Guys who can dance (and lead!!!) are in short supply. And the gal who can appreciate a good dancer - well... that's the kind of gal I want my son to date.

Ballroom is not easy. Partnering isn't easy. It's ultimately a form of non-verbal communication. It's discipline and athletic at the same time - with the added benefit of working with another person to get it right. Important lessons for anyone - especially teenaged boys. And eventually can help keep you healthy: http://socialdance.stanford.edu/syllabi/smarter.htm

My hope is that Aidan learns something from this experience and sees it for what it's worth. Because in my opinion, this class has the potential to be the most important class of his social life. He has countless hours of wedding receptions in front of him - and what better way to spend those hours than by twirling girls around the floor? If I could crash the class, I totally would. But I would probably get kicked out: budget cuts and all.

High School

I had 4 kids in 8 years. Some are closer in age than others. But while on the phone today with my sister, we realized something that my children won't experience which shocked me.

My children have/will have a completely different experience than I had during their high school years. For 3 of them, it's because they are boys. For all of them, the high schools they attend will look nothing like mine: most will be significantly bigger and one will be significantly smaller. Half of my kids will attend schools without the benefit/comfort of old elementary school friends, acquaintances and bullies. My sister and I had this experience: K-12 with the same people; one junior high and one high school in the town we grew up in. There are 6 junior highs in our town here. And 6 "typical" high schools - with alternative learning facilities to boot (continuation etc..) Each 2 year junior high school here has at least as many students if not more than our 4 year high school alma mater.

Colin is almost halfway done with high school. There are 2600 kids on his campus - with 150 more coming in next year. He attends school clear across the valley - to take advantage of a social skills program offered to kids with Asperger's Syndrome. He's in the Special Education program but in all "regular" academic classes. He straddles both worlds. Sometimes more effectively than other times. He listens to Eminem, Kanye West and Radio Disney equally. He'll watch ESPN and read Sports Illustrated and still play Yugioh. He'd prefer watching a Miley Cyrus movie to a horror film. He's also in AP classes and is trying out for football. (Well, "trying out" might not be the best way to put it: we paid the $600 fee and now he's on the team.) He was also selected to be a representative for the California State Youth Leadership Forum for Students with Disabilities to be held this summer in Sacramento - all expenses paid.
And he won't go to the same high school with any of his siblings.

Aidan is getting ready for high school next year. Junior high has been a 1200 person trial and we're holding a collective breath until it's done on June 3. No promotion ceremony for him this year: the school district cut the ceremonies out due to a California budget crisis. He's been accepted to an alternative high school offered through the school district in conjunction with the community college- also across town. He's one of 60-70 kids to be accepted out of 175 incoming freshman applicants. It's possible he won't know a single student on his first day of school - or more likely that he'll only know a few. He won't take AP classes, but his college level courses will be *college* classes on the community college campus. He'll be exposed to the students and professors of the college, in addition to the students and teachers of his high school academy- located in a building on the edge of the college campus. He'll also be exposed to everything at the college - including but not limited to access to the college health center (and free condom handouts...) at age 14. He won't be able to play in high school sports - they aren't allowed at his school due to CIF eligibility regulations. But he can take anything for PE from the course catalog including Jujitsu and Hip Hop.
And he won't go to the same high school with any of his siblings.

Julia has an October birthday. She started Kindergarten when she was 4 years old: a decision we made, in part, due to her older brother's age. We wanted her to be in high school with her older brother. My oldest friend had a brother 2 years older than us, and I was always envious of the ease she seemed to have interacting with boys - and frankly, that she got asked to dances as a freshman because of it. I figured that having an older brother (and his friends) would be a certain bonus to Julia as a freshman in high school: at least someone on the campus to look out for her. (And for me to have a spy in her looking out for *him*) As it stands now, Julia will be the first of my kids to go to the local high school. And by local I mean: Right. Across. The. Street.
And she won't go to the same high school with any of her siblings.

Edwin's in first grade. He has an October birthday too. We made the decision to hold him back from starting Kindergarten - and waited until he was 5 (almost 6) to start school. He'll start high school in the fall after Julia graduates. He may go to the local high school too.
And he won't go to the same high school with any of his siblings.

High school was a time in my life that I would actually do over. I loved it. It was a great experience. Partly because of when and where I grew up. Partly because I had a group of friends whom I gathered over my school years, but always having familiar faces since kindergarten in the halls (for 13 years, I saw Jon Keller every day in at least one class.) But largely because I had a sibling to share it with. We went to school with each other and we have a shared history of familiar schools, friends, and teachers. My kids won't have that. They'll have excellent opportunities. Different experiences. Unique options.

But they won't go to high school with each other.
And it makes me sad.

Bugsy and The Wrong Mother

The Christmas gift from my sister consisted of 2 things representing opposite ends of my life so far. The kid end: "Bugsy Malone" soundtrack. The mid-life adult end: "The Wrong Mother" by Sophie Hannah, contemporary fiction. Both were very meaningful.

Bugsy Malone was a huge favorite of ours growing up (in the days before Scott Baio was Chachi or Charles and before he became a complete tool on reality TV). Our parents took us to see the movie when it came out. I remember picking out Willy Wonka candy to take with me to see the show, and becoming extremely thirsty during Blousie's song, "Ordinary Blues." I think it had something to do with the type of film it was shot on: it looked dusty and sepia like - very parching. (These were the days before juice boxes and bottled water - if you tried to bring beverages with you, it had to be in a thermos, and those always leaked, so no one ever used their lunch box ones.) I never noticed the amount of violence in the film until my own kids saw it last summer at a roof top drive-in in downtown LA. It took on a different feel watching it as a mother. Although you'd think I'd be used to the gun fascination thing as a mom to 3 boys. Happily, we've escaped this phase for the most part. But being a mom didn't stop me from singing along with the movie: we owned the record and it was one of the most played records in the playroom. I'm happy to report that it's still in the playroom, alongside the other LPs of my childhood: Saturday Night Fever, Sound of Music and Grease. Sadly, all of the Donny and Marie albums have disappeared. I'm not sure why Bugsy survived the cleaning purge and Donny did not. So this Christmas, Hilary gave me Bugsy on CD - part of my childhood in song form.

The other part of the gift was the joke part. Hilary is great at joke gifts - a skill passed down from our father. One year, after a particularly long commercial ad-campaign by Manny, Moe and Jack, he followed their advice and got each of his "girls" (mom included) some little tidbit from the Pep Boys: "get all your Christmas needs at the Pep Boys" the commercials promised. He got each of us a trinket and wrapped them up in small jewelry boxes. I believe mine was some kind of spark plug. Upon unwrapping, the girls were confused, and the dad was crying with laughter. It took a bit of explanation before we all started laughing with him. This year, Hilary got dad a Snuggie. And for me? "The Wrong Mother." Hee. She said she walked by it and the title spoke to her.

So I've cracked open "The Wrong Mother" this weekend, as I've been stuck with a cold in bed and there is only a limited amount of Joss Wheden produced material starring Nathan Fillion I can see on Netflix. "The Wrong Mother" is a British Book. Written by someone who lives in England. Uses the queen's English in her writing. Which I find exciting, actually. It's like reading a foreign language book that you can understand *most* of. It's a little like travelling abroad, which, let's face it, all authors try to do: transport you into his/her world. It's usually a world I like to think myself a part of. I studied abroad in Essex for 6 months. I've seen the BBC versions of ALL the Jane Austen classics. I drink Tetley tea and Boddingtons ale. I know the difference between Crisps and Chips. You know, all the important stuff that makes you feel more British, and a little snobby too. But there's something about reading a British author that illuminates your American-ess. It's not just the spelling. Or the slang. It's the assumption that you know what "O levels" are. And how the police system works - and what the initials in it stand for. Or that post (mail) boxes are standardly red. (I knew that one!!!)

So when I understand something that to a Brit makes perfect sense but is slightly baffling to their Western Atlantic counterparts - I feel a bit excited (I knew that one!!!). Like I've read a passage in Latin or some other foreign language. And it makes *this* mother feel smart.

I won't ruin the story for anyone. In fact, I haven't finished it myself. It's turning out to be a great tale. A mystery. I won't be surprised if it's made into a movie; hopefully starring a Kate Winslet and NOT a Gwyneth Paltrow faking a British accent. That would be rubbish. (hee) And I don't tend to discuss - at length - books with anyone anymore. Been there. Done that. Paid 5o grand to do it for 4 years and have a piece of paper to prove it.

And how does this relate to raising 4 children - as the blog title suggests? It doesn't, really. But some of the passages of the book dwell on the dark side of motherhood (yes, there is that side - you see it the moment you go into labor and it peeks it's head out fairly often after you've gone through the trauma of birth) and acknowledging the dark can be a healthy thing from time to time. Bit of perspective and all. And it can be nice to hear another mother say, even fictionally, "What the f*ck have I gotten myself into..." - comfort in numbers and all that.

"You give a little love, and it all comes back to you..."

Trash

I am a semi-feminist. I was full-blown at age 18, 19, 20 and 21. Now? Not so much. As I get older (or "age gracefully" as I like ot call it) I find that life is far less black and white. Much more shades of gray. I am sure of less *now* than I was *then* but I know *more*. Hmm...
So back to the feminist, I can do anything a man can do, and better! thing. When it comes to trash, I happily defer to the age-old sexist sterotype that male people should take the trash out. I live in a house with 4 of them. You'd think one of them would get it.
Tuesday is trash day. As in, the big truck comes right up to your curb and takes your stinky cans, dumps them into the truck and drives away. There is no excessive hauling. The curb is less than 30 feet away from where we store the big trash bins. This is not Italy where you had to carry your trash down 4 flights of stairs and walk half a block to the communal trash dumpster. No, it's not.
So when I freak out about having to remind those who have penises to Take. The. Bins. Out. I (understandably) get a little bent out of shape. Because it happens every Monday. I have tried ALMOST everything to get my point across to the p-bearers in the household: reminding, threatening, withholding allowance, contemplating storing the trash bins in their rooms so they can live with the smell. Nothing has worked.
Last week - I threatened the boys (as I waited in the car while they hurried to get the bins out to the curb after I reminded them AGAIN that it was trash day) that the next time they forgot, I was taking $20 from each of them. No more of this losing a day of allowence. No extra chores. No make up chores. Just pay me when you screw up. I thought this would get through to them. If not Aidan, then Colin, because he is scrupulous about his money and keeping it.
Today? I'm $40 richer. Because they have no frontal lobe function - no memory. No concious thought that doesn't revolve around their stomachs or other (less important) organs. They cannot possibly do this one SIMPLE task. Hmmm. What's a creative mom to do? Think of more creative ways to INSTILL THIS PRIMAL MALE FUNCTION INTO THEIR TINY, TINY BRAINS. Wish me luck.
Eventually this may work with Colin - he paid me cash already. Didn't want me to transfer money out of his savings account because then he would lose interest. Seriously.

Fundraising = ***dra****g

Fundraising should really be a 4 letter word. I don't know who actually enjoys this aspect of raising children. Maybe the kids for about the first 10 minutes? Certainly not me. I don't care what the fundraising "theme" is - the mere sight of a catalog/order form throws me into an anxious state. I really don't care how great or deserving the organization is: I'm averse to whoring out my children as cute little salespeople.

I hated selling Camp Fire Candy as a kid. This was back when you could go door-to-door by yourself and hawk some overpriced product to strangers. It's also when I learned what the "No Soliciting" sign on the door meant.

And now there are few (if any) activities which don't require the participants to sell something. Part of my aversion comes from asking people for money. I will concede that there are some people out there who are extremely adept in selling; and who can sell ANYTHING. You know who they are- they probably have part of your bank account in their wallet.
They are not me. In any way, shape or form. And since the selling really comes back to the parents, my kids are kind of screwed in the fundraising area of life. Doesn't matter if it's candy, magazines, cookie dough, wrapping paper, Tae Kwon Do lessons, car washes, cookies, popcorn, peanuts - and that's just a list of what we've been asked to sell this school year. 75% of the time, I will buy my way out of the fundraising part: I have a cupboard full of nuts to prove it.

And how about the donation part of fundraising? That's the one my quasi-hidden Republican self likes. The donation and the write-off. For me, as painful as the check may be, it's FAR less painful than hawking stale popcorn to people who don't want to buy it. But please don't make me ask other people to donate - it's really a form of selling something and again pushes me way too far past my comfort level.

Sadly, I don't have an alternative solution that is equitable for all teammates/schoolmates/scoutmates. So the selling continues. And will not stop for at least 10 years. Food for thought though: less selling = less perks. No catered Cub Scout party. No monogrammed soccer backpack. Hmm... maybe the kids do with a little less, and still have fun?