Sunday, December 9, 2012

I Can Do Anything You Can Do ... Better

We all want to be better parents than our own were. It's human nature that we hone in on the little things our parents "did wrong" ... things that, as parents ourselves, we vow to do differently -- BETTER.

My parents made two enormous, perhaps even unforgivable, mistakes when I was a child:

1) I didn't always have clean socks to wear.
2) I wasn't allowed to eat sugary cereals.

GASP! 

Now, as an adult, I realize how ridiculous it was that these petty things seemed like such injustices years ago.

At the time, of course, it was all about me and what I wasn't getting, not the abundance of everything that I did have.

I am acutely aware of my own shortcomings as a mom -- I yell too much; my eyes roll back into my head when I'm forced to watch the Disney channel; I'd rather chew glass than clean out the guinea pig cage; and I'll buy a new pair of pants before I'll learn how to sew on a button.

And, yes, there also have been plenty of times when LJ and Julianna have frantically searched for a pair of clean, matching socks as we should be leaving for school.

But last week, with Jack out of town and me scrambling to remember which day of the week it was (much less worry about clean socks for the kids), Julianna gave me an early morning wake up call I won't soon forget.

As I was on my way upstairs to finish getting dressed, I heard a cry from LJ, who was downstairs in the kitchen. He had spilled a whole glass of milk on the counter and desperately wanted my help to clean it up.

I muttered something under my breath, and turned toward the stairs so I could go to LJ's rescue.

Julianna, who was right beside me, grabbed my arm and firmly said: "Mom, STOP! He can do this himself. He NEEDS to do this himself."

I was stunned ... mostly because my daughter was absolutely right. 

I smiled and said: "You know what, Julianna, you are 100 percent correct. He can do this himself."

"You see, Mom," she said. "I've learned that sometimes you have to clean up your own messes, both physically and emotionally."

Spoken like a typical 9-year-old.

I yelled down to LJ that he should take care of it, and of course, he did.

As I finished getting ready with my little girl nearby, I said, "Julianna, I hope you know that someday, you are going to be a much better mom than I am."

And I meant it.

Julianna may not care about sugary cereals or clean socks when it comes to her own kids, but it won't matter.

She already knows what I should have been focusing on all along ...

Sometimes refusing to hold your child's hand every step of the way is the very best thing you can do to support them.

Friday, September 21, 2012

When Pigs Fly

Everyone has an Easy-Bake Oven. You know - the brass ring you couldn't quite reach as a child. The one thing you just had to have that you never got. It didn't matter how much you begged and pleaded, bartered or prayed -- it wasn't going to happen.

My parents, nor Santa, nor the Hanukkah Fairy were going to deliver the goods. The Easy-Bake Oven was my "Dream Deferred", my Raisin in the Sun.

Okay, maybe that's overstating it a bit.

But when Julianna approached me about a month ago asking for a pet rabbit, I knew I was in trouble. The Easy-Bake Oven was lingering in my mind.

At the ripe old age of 9, Julianna says her goal is to be an animal researcher, and she believes that having a pet of her own will allow her to study and learn more about the behavior of animals. To make her case, she produced a PowerPoint and presented it with great confidence to me and Jack.

When her rabbit research revealed that bunnies do not make ideal pets for children, she quickly turned her attention to rodents. And she eventually settled on guinea pigs as the pet du jour.

I initially said no. Nada. Not on your life.

And then she cried.

Hard.

Real tears.

And I caved.

It was that damn Easy-Bake Oven. I could practically smell the freshly baked cookies that never had the chance to melt in my mouth.

Oreo and Cinnamon the guinea pigs are now part of the family. No big deal, right? Tiny little creatures that hardly need a thing, I thought.

Until yesterday. Julianna became alarmed when Oreo was struck with a sudden fit of sneezing. As usual, I turned to my trusty friend, Google, for advice on curing the cavies' ailments.

EMERGENCY! PIGS NEAR DEATH! GET THEM TO A VET AT ONCE!

A trip across town to the "Exotic Vet" and $150 later, our pigs are now on antibiotics for upper respiratory infections. Apparently the twice-a-day dose of cherry-flavored Septra is a life-saving measure to ward of pneumonia of the cavia porcellus kind (Pig Latin, for those of you wondering).

As I waited in the vet's office for our furry friends' stool sample results to come back (really), I thought about the Easy-Bake Oven and whether all of this trouble is really worth it just to satisfy the childhood feelings I had clearly  projected onto my sweet daughter.

Of course it is.

The smile on her face as she cuddles those little critters makes it all worth while ... even as I'm shoveling pig poo into the trash can and chopping cucumbers for the sake of snacks.

And if I had to do it all over again, I would.

When pigs fly.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Clothes Make the Man

As LJ marched into the gym for his fifth grade graduation ceremony last Friday, I couldn't help but notice that -- although he looked extremely handsome in his brand-new shirt, first "real" tie, and freshly ironed pants -- he was the only boy in the entire grade who was not wearing a blazer.

Or a belt.

And he was probably the only boy sporting navy socks with his black pants and black loafers.

It was actually a minor miracle that LJ was wearing pants at all that morning. Suddenly, his black pants no longer fit him. And these were the same pants that, when I bought them just months before, were so big his ankles were practically swimming in the cuffs.

Now, just 30 minutes before he needed to be at school for the culminating experience of his elementary school career, we couldn't even get his pants to button. 

Zip, yes -- never mind it required a metal captain's hook and the strength of 10 oxen. But the button just didn't want to budge, and I had serious concerns that I would tear the button from its tenuous threads if I pulled much harder.

Divine grace intervened ... or perhaps God just got tired of hearing me curse in Yiddish ... and the button somehow found its way into the hole.

After I made LJ swear that he wouldn't cough, sneeze or bend over until after the graduation reception, I handed him his belt.

Now, I should have known the belt -- which I bought more than a year ago -- wouldn't fit anymore, but it simply didn't cross my mind until it was too late.

And the navy socks? Well, I can't really explain that, except to assure you that I will be having my annual eye exam sooner rather than later.

As I helped LJ get ready that morning, I found myself panicked that we wouldn't make it to school in time, or if we did, my son would be sans pants.

But then, as I watched Jack show LJ how to put on his first "clipless" tie, I realized that these clothes did indeed make the man. 

Baggy pants to barely buttoned.

Brand new shirt that hardly stretched across his broad shoulders.

Belt that was more suited to my waist than his.

My oldest child is hardly a child at all anymore.

Despite his lack of a blazer, belt, and matching socks, LJ didn't miss a beat at graduation. He confidently strode in with his classmates during the processional, glided across the stage to receive his certificate, and even turned to the camera and posed when he shook the Head of School's hand -- just as he had been instructed to do during rehearsal.

For those of you who have been through a "milestone" experience with a child, you'll understand why I had to choke back the tears as he processed in and out of the gym. And you'll also commiserate with me on the "how did time fly so fast" sentiment. It may be cliche but could not have rang more true last Friday.

It's also true that LJ's first 11 years have gone too quickly. I haven't taken enough photos, scrapbooked enough pages, or captured nearly enough memories. I am, however, comforted by knowing that we still have Middle School and Upper School ahead of us. That's seven more years of moments I have to look forward to and memories to make ... and it's plenty of time to get him a pair of pants and a belt that actually fit.



Photos by Steve Abrahams