Not Sure What I Did To Deserve My Mother-In-Law

But I am damned lucky.

Himself runs as part of a team in three big relay races a year. Two of these are out of town, and require him to be gone from Thursday or Friday morning through Sunday night.  The older the kids get and the more weekend activities they have, the harder it becomes for me to get them everywhere they need to go in his absence by myself.  I try really hard not to resent the fact that he has three long weekends a year away from home with his friends (there is another non-running related trip as well) because he spends all his other time either at work or with the kids and has essentially no friend time here, but I am not always successful.  It is a poor reflection on me that I can't just be happy that he is having fun and getting a chance to recharge his batteries with the guys, but I am small and petty sometimes.

At any rate, this was going to be one of those race weekends where I physically could not handle everything on the calendar by myself.  My wonderful MIL volunteered to come from her home an hour away and stay with me to help (my mother lives too far away, or she would have done the same.)  She came up Friday evening.  Early Saturday AM I took Thing One to a soccer tournament while she took the other two to their Rec soccer practices.  That afternoon she took Thing One to one birthday party while I took The Girl to another at the same time.  After Mass today we all went to Thing Two's soccer game, and then she stayed home to watch the younger kids and the dog while I took Thing One to his travel soccer game 60 miles away.  (Which is completely insane, by the way.)  We were gone for five hours.

By the time I got back, Himself was home from his trip and she'd returned to her house.  She had (on her own initiative) cooked dinner and dessert for the family, folded two loads of laundry, and emptied the dishwasher before she left.

When I count my blessings, this woman is high on the list.

Lightning Does Sometimes Strike Twice

Last month, I wrote a post about a birthday party I attended with my son that was a fantastic but highly atypical cross-cultural party experience, in addition to the source of some of the best food I've ever eaten.  Today, improbably, it happened again.

This time, it was friends of The Girl's who were celebrating their birthday.  Twin boys, of Italian heritage.  That much was evident from their names, but I didn't realize quite HOW Italian they are until this afternoon.  

The party was at their house.  This one did not have all the immediately visible cultural trappings of the last one (not sure what the Italian equivalent of a mariachi band and pinatas would be, anyway) but I absolutely could not believe the food.  They had the usual kid-friendly fare outside for the children, but there was a whopping spread laid out in the kitchen for the adults: an antipasto platter, eggplant parmigiana, marinated mushrooms, breads, pizzas.  All homemade and utterly amazing.  They told me that the mushrooms were grown in a sister-in-law's garden, as was the eggplant.  The tomato sauce for the eggplant and pizzas was prepared from tomatoes they grew themselves.  Not so unusual around here, but they had imported the tomato seeds from which the plants were grown from Italy.  These people take their food seriously.  I got a ten-minute lecture on the only correct way to prepare eggplant parm: the twins' father (Mario is his name) was quite adamant that the authentic dish should contain homemade soppressata salami, but he didn't have access to any and refused to even consider using the store-bought variety, so he left it out of the version they served today.

But that wasn't even the best part.  When I arrived, Mario immediately offered me a glass of wine.  Homemade red wine that he had pressed and aged himself in his basement, as it turned out.  A very typical suburban basement...how often do you see that??  It wasn't half bad wine, either.  It made me think of my Italian great-grandparents, who also made wine in their basement all those years ago, according to family lore.    

And this was another multigenerational extravaganza that looked like it was going to go on for a while, and once again we had to leave before the cake was cut!  This time, to pick up Thing One from another birthday party that he was attending ten miles or so away...his friend's mother was kind enough to give The Girl a piece of the leftover cake from his party when we got there. 

Lesson learned: when invited to birthday parties at someone's home, we will no longer be scheduling anything else for immediately afterward.  When lightning strikes a third time, we'll be ready!

On Not Judging Books By Their Covers, Again

A classmate of Thing One's has a spectacularly beautiful mother.  Her hair, makeup and nails are always perfect, her clothes the latest in fashion (plus some classic pieces from when she worked at Chanel (!) in Paris (!!) back a few years), her body toned and slim.  She is at least five or six years older than I am, but you'd never know it.  Every time I see her, I resolve to do something about my wardrobe, lose ten pounds, and get a better haircut!  She appears so perfect on the outside that she is a difficult person not to hate on principle, but once I got over the social intimidation factor and actually began talking to her, it became clear that she is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside.  I consider her a good friend now, as different as we are.  I'll call her Maria.

I was talking to another mother at a baseball game a few years back.  Thing One and Maria's son were on different teams that season, and she happened to be in the stands on the other side of the field from us.  The other mother brought up the subject of Maria, and with more than a touch of envy commented that she would love to trade lives with her.  That comment stopped me in my tracks for a minute.

Maria has two sons.  The elder, the one in Thing One's grade, is autistic.  High-functioning and a wonderful kid, but his medical issues have been a major, serious source of stress and grief and worry for his parents since his diagnosis.  The younger has heart problems, and there have been many trips to emergency rooms and pediatric cardiologists for him.  He may need surgery in the future.  Maria spends many of her days ferrying one son or the other to doctor's appointments all over the state.  I'm pretty sure that she would not wish the stress and fear she faces every day for both of her beloved sons on anyone, no matter how beautiful and materially blessed she might be.

In fairness to the other mother, she may not have known the whole situation.  I'd like to think that she didn't.  I'm not even sure what made me think about Maria today (maybe that I talked to her briefly at Back To School Night earlier this week), but that conversation from the baseball game reminded me that what you see on the surface of another person is not necessarily reflective of the true situation.  As a person prone to making snap judgments, I needed the reminder.

There isn't any such thing as a perfect life, anyway.    

Bullying Begins At Home

Last year, I tossed my name into the ring for our local school board election and won a seat.

Our school district is K-8, so if we stay in this house for the duration, I'll have had at least one kid attending school in this district for 13 consecutive years when all is said and done.  That's certainly long enough for it to matter to me how things are being run overall, but I would be lying if I said that my decision to run wasn't in part because of Thing Two and his special needs.  Not that I am looking out for him as an individual so much, but more for his (very expensive) end of the academic spectrum in this era of budget cuts.  Though from a purely selfish standpoint, I figure that it can't possibly hurt him if the powers that be know that his mother is both a very involved parent and on the school board (i.e., not one likely to sit idly by if he is not getting the therapy and aide attention that his school case manager and doctors have determined that he needs.)  If I have learned anything through this long and involved special education process, I have learned to be the squeaky wheel on behalf of my son.  Although not ordinarily an in-your-face type of person, I have squeaked loud and long out of love for this child.  

One of my big fears is that budget cuts, aide distraction, etc will result in him not getting the help he needs through the school.  The other one, though, the one that keeps me up at night, is the fear that he will be bullied because of his otherness.  The single most important reason that I put my name on the ballot for this job (and it is a tedious and thankless job in many respects, as important as it is) was that I wanted to have a real, meaningful voice in the bullying policy at this school.

Not that the school has any unusual bullying issues, let me say upfront.  Compared to most in the area and certainly in the state, the problem we have with it is relatively minor.  My concern is that if any child ever had a metaphorical sign on him that said "I am a target," it is Thing Two.  I find it highly ironic that so far, Thing One, the golden child, is the only one who has had any trouble with other kids, and that has been dealt with (but this is why the kids and I originally started in the taekwondo program, incidentally.)

Thinking about this because a big chunk of Tuesday night's Board of Ed meeting related to our district bullying policy, which is largely mandated by the state.  A child who felt that he was being harassed and bullied actually left the district over the summer and is at a private school this year.  In general, part of the problem with the term "bullying" from an administrative standpoint is that it is defined by the state, and in a lot of instances, what mean kids do to other kids does not rise to the official definition of bullying, so the state-mandated consequences don't come into play.  When that is the case, incidents become simpler (bureaucratically speaking) code of conduct violations and are addressed through the normal disciplinary channels.

What really pisses me off is that the school in many of these cases (this is just my opinion, of course) is being forced to take on the parental role.  It seems insane to me that we as a district would have to be the ones explaining that it is not ok to pick on kids that are different or be rude to teachers or swear in class or write on bathroom walls or push people or take their school supplies.  Where in the hell are their parents??  And then, after the school district gets a report and deals with the situation either through the bullying track or the code of conduct track, why are these parents saying "Not MY little angel..." instead of actually implementing consequences at home for bad conduct at school??  Yes, this is a soapbox of mine, but it makes me nuts.  All the school and state rules in the world aren't going to be worth a damn if parents don't take the time to teach their children not to be mean to other kids and to have empathy for those who are different. And it makes me even more insane that I have taught my children to be kind, so they don't always have the words to deflate bullies when they encounter them.

A friend had the same issue a couple of years ago.  She has daughters the same ages as my sons, and is very much of the same parenting philosophy as mine (i.e., you had better be nice to the other kids at school and behave yourself there because there will be consequences both at school and at home if you don't.)   Her older daughter was being picked on by the mean girls because she refused to join in with them as they were cruel to other girls in the class.  Think about that one for a minute.  To her credit, she stood her ground.

As an adult looking on, it was easy to see the insecurities that were feeding the particular bullies in that case.  If my friend had been willing to teach her daughter to tell the one girl that she was just acting out because she's fat and doesn't like herself and the other that she's mean because her dad has a low-income job and she is self-conscious about it, those girls would have shriveled up and collapsed like day-old balloons.  But is it right to teach your young child how to seek out the weak points of others and use them to be cruel?  My friend didn't think so, and neither do I.  But damned if I don't want to sometimes, just to shut these miserable brats up and give them a taste of their own medicine.

And I want to bitch-slap some of their parents for not giving a damn what their kids do in school, and for not teaching them right from wrong.  I know I sound geriatric, but I don't care.  It's the truth.  Bullying and unkindness in school have their roots at home, with what parents teach their children or don't teach them.  All the state and district laws in the world can't change that, and are essentially a band-aid on a gunshot wound.

It's just time for some parents to sack the hell up and stop expecting the school to parent for them.

*climbs off soapbox*  

Yesterday Was A Good Day In The Dojo

Woke up yesterday morning with a nervous stomach.  It was one of those days--I had a to-do list as long as my arm, plus my taekwondo belt test and a school board meeting consecutively in the evening to complicate the logistics.

In our dojo, the belt tests take place in front of the public.  The head instructor calls you up to the middle of the room in small groups to demonstrate your forms, self-defenses and techniques while everyone else watches.  The kicker with the technique part is that you have no idea what you will be asked to do until it is called out.  Thing Two's auditory processing problems did not arise out of the ether--clearly I don't have the problem as badly as he does since I didn't realize I had it until he was diagnosed, but I don't do well with oral directions either--but I actually managed to stay calm and focused all the way through this time.

The last time, I panicked and completely forgot something important, and walked out afterward feeling like a prize idiot even though I had my new belt.  This time, I had the satisfaction of knowing that I'd kept it together.  With my super-mighty industrial strength knee brace and bum knee, there are some things I just can't do on that side as well as I would like to, but I did them the best that I can possibly do them at this point and didn't blank on anything important, which is the best that even this ridiculously type-A overachiever type can ask of herself.  And I managed not to hurt myself further doing it, which is even better.

And the icing on the cake is that I got my new pants.  It sounds silly, but the green belt is somewhat of a divider in the rank system.  Below that, the uniform is white jacket, white pants.  Green and above may wear black pants with their white jackets.  Only black belts can wear the full black gi.  I am a very long way from a black belt, and am taking this one step at a time, but as best as I can figure, the black pants are a sign that you've worked hard enough and learned enough to be officially not a newbie to the game anymore, and I'll be wearing them proudly for that reason alone.  And for purely practical reasons, on those occasions where you have to throw a coat on over the gi and go do something in civilian-land, the black pants stick out a lot less!

But the best part of the day came in class yesterday morning.  The instructor (not the one who tests us) always does a review the day of a test for those who are testing, so it's worth going to the dojo twice.  I was talking to her afterward, and she gave me one of the best compliments I've ever received.  She asked if I would consider helping to teach the junior classes (as an assistant) when I get up another few belts, since it is clear to her that I love to teach and people keep telling her that I'm good at it.  This is a huge honor, and I will absolutely take her up on the offer whenever she decides that I am senior enough in rank.  I walked out of there on a freaking cloud!

Good day in the dojo, indeed.    

I Think This About Says It All

Earned mine tonight fair and square and am feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof. And since in our particular martial arts system this is the belt level at which you are permitted to wear black pants (graduating up from beginners' white), I will be rocking those at the next class as well!

I Must Be Insane

At least I come by it honestly.  Genetically, in fact.

This is a spectacularly beautiful afternoon.  Clear, sunny, 68 degrees, soft breeze.  Where am I spending it??  In my office, making a poster board of volunteer signup opportunities for Thing One's class because I am his homeroom mom this year and Back To School Night is tonight.  There is definitely something wrong with this picture.  At the very least, I need to move the printer outside!

Himself spends a great deal of time telling me not to agree to do this kind of thing.  I've been informed on more than one occasion (tongue mostly in cheek) that our marriage will be in jeopardy if I take one more big thing on--usually something like organizing the massive PTA auction that benefits the school or some such.   To which "opportunity" I would say hell no anyway, because I do have some sense...it's the smaller things that I agree to do precisely because they are smaller and I think I can fit them in that end up biting me in the butt.  See e.g. today.

Himself was raised by parents who are not at all active in their community.  They are wonderful people, but they did not help at their church or volunteer at their kids' schools or coach a sports team or anything else as far as I know.  (They both worked, in fairness, but a lot of the parents who volunteer around here work as well.)  They have their friends, whom they have known since slightly after the earth cooled, and they spend their free time with these friends and doing their sports activities.  That's just how it is with them.  This is the example Himself grew up with.

My parents, on the other hand, are an entirely different sort.  They helped with everything, always.  Class parent, CCD teacher, school board member, parish council treasurer, cupcake baker, school volunteer, Rotary member.  You name it, one or the other of them did it.  Even now that both of us kids are long gone, Dad is a volunteer chaplain at their local hospital and Mom does remedial reading with disadvantaged kids.  That's just who they are, and the example they set for me.

After all these years of marriage, Himself and I are approaching a detente, anyway.  He coaches all three kids' soccer teams, and I am actively trying to cut back on the things I get involved with, because I become a lunatic (even more of a lunatic?) when I say "yes" too often.  I am going to assume that there is a happy medium somewhere between doing so much that you become a nutjob and doing nothing at all.  Maybe we will even find it sometime!