Oh, That's What This Is Called

I like to think that my 8-year old is a great kid. I won't go into all of the wonderful things I think she is capable of. I am also aware that she is not perfect. I am not a clueless parent. However, generally speaking, she has been in the business of making my life easier, not more difficult; and for that I thank her.

Unfortunately for Madeline, she has been dealing with some difficult social situations for the past couple of years. I know there is a strong push at this point in history to identify bullies and victims. I am starting to disagree somewhat with this labeling process. For my child, she has adopted the role of victim, because that is what they taught her in bully awareness training. Unfortunately, she has been playing this role quite well. Of course, when other children (family members included) are unkind, it is easy to start feeling sorry for one's self. It is easy to feel like the victim. Now, the fact is that Madeline is kind of a victim of bullying. She has been repeatedly spoken to unkindly. She has even bore the brunt of a bit of unprovoked shoving and pushing. Because she is a relatively confident girl, she stands up for herself. Because she is not the most sensitive kid around, she can brush some of this off. Furthermore, I don't expect her teachers to be able to police every social interaction and make sure Madeline is safe and sound at all times. However, a kid can only take so much before she needs a break. I wish that parents of bullies knew about and dealt with their children's behavior. Unfortunately, this is not always going to be the case. I am most certainly not going to call any other kid's parents and inform them that their child is inflicting pain on my child. This is not my place. I honestly don't care how others choose to parent their kids. I care only to help my child cope with the cards she has been dealt. As I tell my daughter, we can't change others, we can only adjust ourselves.

I am beginning to understand that "relational aggression" (yep, that's what this type of bullying is called) happens really, really early for girls. It can start as early as first grade. This is a sad prospect when you think that school is a long road and will be full of these types of situations. Again, letting Madeline play the role of victim is simply not an option. Playing the victim will never get her anywhere...unless she wants to use the role to some manipulative advantage. And to that I say, "Not in my house, kid." And so I reprise the role of therapist as I help my own daughter develop strategies to improve her social interactions. Re-assuming this role for the benefit of my child has been more than heartbreaking. Trying to coach her on how to navigate the waters of her early friendships has been heart-wrenching. Listening to her cry and admit her anxiety about going to school is simply awful. I admit that I have broken into tears during our lengthy discussions more than once. A total failure on my part. However, I am pregnant and I can hardly stand to watch Madeline experience this kind of pain at age 8. It is simply not fair.

Having said that, Madeline needs to suck it up. I have taken the approach of therapist and mother, telling her that she needs to find new friends, stop feeling sorry for herself, and make lemonade from the lemons she has been given. Her response to my coaching? "I don't really want to watch my lemons rot, Mom." That's my girl. Last night, we discussed that driving down "Vicky Victim Road" is not going to lead her anywhere but to a dead end. She promised to take a right onto "Proactive Pam Drive", a road that could only lead to puppies, unicorns, and rainbows. I have now vowed not to mention the names of the people who Madeline has had difficult with. We have agreed that they are not worth our time. We have promised to focus on solutions, not on problems.

As I said, having to deal with this relational aggression at age 8 is unfair. It would be nice if elementary school were a nice, safe place where everyone could be friends. However, this is not the case. Children of all ages converge on schools every day, bringing with them myriad emotional, psychological, and social issues. It's kind of like the rest of the world; full of people who are sad, confused, hungry, tired, happy, excited, spoiled, needy, and more. Believing that elementary school, or anywhere else for that matter could be a place free of difficult social interactions is completely absurd. My hope is that learning various strategies at such a young age, Madeline will be better prepared to deal with the endless number of difficult social interactions that are to come. If history is any indicator, Madeline will fare quite well. She is, of course in the business of making life easy and livable. Many times for others, but also for herself.

Fire

I believe two "A" math tests in a row is what earned my 7-year old the right to become a pet owner. Upon her victory on the second "A", Madda's Daddy took her to Wal-Mart to pick out what would become the very first pet of the DeWitt house. No, they do not sell puppies and kitties at our Wal-Mart. But they do sell Betta fish, and we became the owner of one red fish. "Fire", as this fish has been dubbed, has turned out to be the most boring fish on the face of the planet. It literally does NOTHING. Regardless, we have ascribed a personality to Fire, imagining that he is very disgruntled and generally dissatisfied with his surroundings. We assume that this fish is in its tiny tank, day dreaming of a life better than the one provided by The DeWitt Five.

Madeline probably took care of this fish for approximately two days before I was left in charge of the angry little thing. Therefore since October, when the fish became a member of the family, I have been feeding it and changing its water. Our children care so little about this fish that I once suggested that we might get a more interesting pet like a dog or a cat, and Madeline was on board with flushing it down the toilet....while still alive. Since I'm fairly certain that flushing a live fish down the toilet does not send the right message to my kids, we (I) continue to maintain this silly fish.

This past Saturday, Fire was again in need of a change of water and its true owner (Madeline) volunteered to help with the task. Therefore, I grabbed the net and the fresh water and enlisted the help of my daughter in taking care of her fish. I assisted Madda in holding the net as I poured the contents of Fire's little tank through the green grid of fabric inside. As she held the net over the sink, I quickly washed and refilled Fire's castle with fresh, clean water. I instructed Madeline to let me assist her in placing Fire back into his tank, as the opening for the fish bowl is comparable to the opening in the net, making for a precarious situation when trying to dump the damn fish back into its home. Unfortunately, as we stood over the sink, she shook the net one way and I shook it another. Fire's flopping body lunged from the net and landed squarely in the middle of the drain. Yes, the one which houses the garbage disposal below. I immediately starting screaming, "It's in the drain, it's in the drain!" Jason looks up from his task of nailing a picture hanger into the back of the picture, not far from where we stood and rushes to our rescue. He is exclaiming, "Grab a glove! Grab a flashlight!" All the while, Madeline is screaming and crying and carrying on. Although I was not surprised by her reaction, I guess I might have expected less in the way of hysterics from someone who was willing to euthanize her fish just weeks before.

As the hysterics continue, Jason heads to the sink with a flashlight in one of his gloved hands and digs through the soggy bread, apple cores, and leftover bits of cereal to retrieve the fish who nobody cares about. In the midst of this madness, I encourage the kids to come with me to check the mail...and they do, proving that they care more about what bills and credit card applications have been delivered than the life of their family pet. After I distract the kids for several minutes, we head back in the front door. When he hears the door open, Jason calls out that he has saved Fire and that he is back in his tank, safe and sound. Sighs of relief are breathed, cheers ring out. I breathed a sigh of relief mostly because I didn't wan to have to deal with the aftermath of the death of our fish and its impact on our children. Additionally, I didn't want to deal with turning on the disposal in a post-Fire world. I just know that I would have imagined his red body being mangled along with the remains of cut-up strawberries and orange peels. I'm a very visual person.

After the ordeal was settled, Madeline wondered aloud if Fire would now be happy, having narrowly escaped death. I commented that often when people cheat death, that they will find a new lease on life. Madeline then said that it was possible that Fire might be even more angry after his brush with the afterlife. I let her know that some people do indeed become even more self-destructive after a traumatic event.

This is all interesting to me because we have so personified this fish. Because Fire is truly the most boring pet in the world, our family seeks to create human-like emotions and personality to make up for it. In all likelihood, Fire will remain exactly as he was before his near-tragic accident. I'm sure however, that because we want to continue the story of our fish, that we will surely see a change in Fire. I'll let you know how it all turns out.

A Higher Calling?

I have revealed that I am not a religious person. This is not a secret, by any means. I was raised by a non-practicing Methodist mother and a father who was a Zen Buddhist. (Of course, he is now a Non-Dual Vedanta-ist, but that is for another time.) I have never been involved in any kind of organized religious practice, and I don't think that such practices are in the cards for me. Ever. Additionally, I do not fall under the category of people who find themselves "spiritual" rather than "religious." Perhaps I should have lived in The Netherlands where the churches are empty and the parks are full. That is much more my style.

However, this post is not about my religious views. I am not here to debate the various aspects of religion. To me, it is simply not part of my life and we can still be friends (good friends, even) if it is part of yours. My post today is to talk about a strange and repeated occurrence that may or may not be some kind of divine intervention. And, it has to do with Journey. Yes the 80's band, not the spiritual walk. For the past several years, I have been unable to escape the song "Don't Stop Believin." It haunts me. It plays each and every time I use the shuffle feature on my Ipod and I hear it in the car constantly. I hear it blaring from other cars. I once saw a bumper sticker with that phrase on the car in front of me- while listening to the song in my car (on the radio, not the cd). Last weekend, I heard it at a wedding and someone recently mentioned it in their FB post. It is truly bizarre. Today, when I took two of my children to a library we never go to, there was a teenager with a "Don't Stop Believin" t-shirt in the juvenile fiction area. Is this divine intervention? And, why is Journey involved? Is Steve Perry in on this? Or is that Asian guy who replaced Steve Perry with his silky voice to blame? Is this just a function of living in Indiana? Am I being punk'd? Honestly, one can only ignore the coincidences in one's life so long. Any possible explanations for this dilemma are welcomed.

On Marriage

I have had the pleasure of attending several weddings in the past 7 or so months. The fact is, I was not invited to any of them. I was in attendance as a photographer's assistant. Therefore I was able to sit in back (because I'm the assistant and the real photographer goes in front) and listen objectively. I did not know any of the brides or grooms, and therefore I was as objective as I have ever been at a wedding.

Of course, I am female (and there to take pics) and therefore, I am unable to attend a wedding without paying some attention to the aesthetic details of the whole business. The weddings have all been quite lovely; each dress more beautiful than the next, each bride flawless and glowing, each groom a true gentleman. I have yet to meet a "bridezilla" or a groom that creeped me out. However, as a non-religious (agnostic) person, the interesting thing to me about all of these weddings has been the ceremony. I am somewhat removed from the wedding scene. At 25 or so, you tend to be a guest at ceremony after ceremony. They all sort of gel together into a nameless, faceless ceremony followed by a party with a bunch of old college friends. As a 36-year old, I pay attention to the words of the officiant (minister, preacher, pastor, celebrant, whatever) and I am somewhat fascinated by the words and traditions. I too was married by a man of God. I'm fairly certain we just went with society's traditions on that one. Not to mention I was too busy vomiting to even care one way or the other about the details of my wedding.

But, back to the point. All of the ceremonies very traditionally spelled out the guidelines for man and wife. All of these ceremonies have been Christian. All of them have very similar tenets, ie.."Do you promise to honor, obey, be faithful, etc." As I sit in the back of the church, I find myself wondering if the happy couple standing before me have any idea what they are getting themselves into. I wonder if, through their counseling with their "officiant" they have reviewed the expectations of a "wife" or a "husband" and if they took any of the discussions to heart. Or are they like me? Did they just want to marry their significant other because they were overwhelmed with feeling and love and passion and excitement (and pregnancy)? Do they really feel like their marriage is between themselves and God and the whole church community? Or are they just excited to spend their lives with that one special person? Or are they just getting married because it is the next logical step in a long-term monogamous relationship?

After all this wondering, it comes down to the following questions. Was I at all prepared for marriage? Was I unprepared for marriage because of the lack of religious affiliation throughout my life? Was I unprepared because my parents were divorced and I lacked having that relationship modeled for me? Was I unprepared because I was 51 weeks into a relationship with my would-be husband and 16 weeks pregnant? Was I unprepared because our lives were unstable and marked by the unknown in every way?

Or are we all unprepared for this thing called marriage? Do any of us really know what we are getting into? Are we all just wearing rose-colored glasses and hoping for the best? Do we think it will be easy....or get easier? Did anyone mention to you that marriage is much, much more complicated than it looks and that the dress, ring and reception mean absolutely nothing when you get down to it?

Now, before you start thinking that I am writing this because I am on the verge of divorce, let me correct you. I am very happily married. I really did marry the right person. I did it with zero counseling from a religious figure, and I did it quickly because I was knocked up. We had a shotgun wedding with 12 people at the ceremony and 50 at the reception. By no means was it the wedding of a little girl's dreams. Regardless, it served it's purpose and is completely legal and binding. We have had to make up our own rules as we progress together.

I am writing this because marriage is a fascinating relationship and because I am going to be a real guest at 2 weddings in the month of June. As I sit in my seat (or pew) I will again wonder about my ability to make marriage work and what ingredients are necessary. Or which ingredients should be left out entirely. This is not to say that I couldn't benefit from some good old fashioned heathen reading on the subject...that is if any of you know of such a text.

Wherein I Stray from the Original Topic

I remember being a child, and the Cleveland summers spent at the pool, having lemonade stands, and playing in my neighborhood. When we were quite young, we had a babysitter. After a couple summers of supervision, my brother and I were on our own and we faired pretty well. I do not remember having my summer structured to the point that down time was a luxury. Structure was something reserved for the school year. I remember days being long and bright and full of self-entertainment. Now is the point in this post when I start to question (complain) the pressure I feel to have my children involved in so many activities that our summer schedule starts to resemble our school schedule, except for the fact that it costs more. I ask all my mommy buddies about what their children will do this summer. We share information about various camps- drama camp, Wolf Park Camp, swimming lessons, Girls Scout Camp, tennis lessons, YMCA camp, pottery camp, basketball camp. The possibilities are endless. So are the costs. It occurred to me that my parents barely had me in any structured activities in the summer aside from swimming lessons. Interestingly, I'm fairly certain that they had me in swimming so that they could drop me off at the pool or beach and be confident that I would not drown. No babysitter included. I entertained myself. My children are young, yes. They require supervision. The fact is, I am concerned that this need to constantly structure my children's time is resulting in them expecting me to entertain them...indoors and out. They need a darn instructor/teacher to give them details on the next event in their lives.

I wonder if I chose to opt out of structured activities for the summer (and the school year, for that matter), if my children would find a sense of freedom and joy in their daily activities that they are so far, unfamiliar with. I wonder if they would find long days full of sunshine where friends and trees and bugs are enough. Where they do not need a coach or a camp counselor or a teacher or even a hovering parent. Where their imagination does all the work. I wonder if I could find it within myself to not feel as though I am cheating my child by not involving them in every opportunity that comes their way. I wonder if I could swallow the guilt I inevitably feel when I learn that Little Johnny and Sallie Sue are taking such and such a lesson and thriving because of them, while my children are hanging in the backyard and playing freeze tag. I wonder if I can accept that I cannot give my children everything.

I fully realize that this pressure is in my head. Clearly, I have control of what my children are involved in. Regardless, "mommy guilt" creeps up on me and I have to weigh all of my options. When the weighing is over and I come to brass tacks on this particular brand of guilt, I have to opt in. At least in moderation. If I kept them in the house with me and left them to their own devices for the two and a half-month duration of summer, I would surely lose my mind. And that folks, is why there are so many option for children in the summer.

Mother's Day- The Unorthodox Edition

Mother's day 2011 has come and gone, and the memories are pure joy and splendor. Before you start thinking that I'm going to recount moments of pleasure in seeing my children's handmade cards, or the excitement of opening my new Kate Spade purse, let me be clear on how I spent mother's day this year: I was able to complete a project, from beginning to end without interruptions of any kind. Yes folks, I mulched my front and side yards. They look awesome. Additionally, I spent time with my husband. The reason I was able to complete such tasks? My kids were not home. Nope. I didn't see them from 2pm Saturday until 6pm Sunday. And that was fine with me. A mother's day well spent.

I know some more traditional moms may be gasping in horror at my total lack of interest in spending mother's day with those who gave me the title to begin with. I don't care. Let's be honest- every day is mother's day at my house. I spend A LOT of time with my kids. I do not work outside the home. I feel their love every day. I can only hope that they feel mine. Dressing up and heading to the country club (or Cracker Barrel or Red Lobster) for Mother's Day brunch does not do it for me. I'll take some time to accomplish necessary tasks and talk to my husband. It is due to him that I have these wonderful offspring. Why not enjoy some time of reflection with him? (And mulch the yard, of course.)

And reflect we did. On a real date on Saturday night. In Indianapolis. With sushi. And wine. And immature behavior at Starbucks while eating dessert (aka coffee so that we wouldn't fall asleep on the drive home). We held hands. We texted while sitting at the same table, about the people around us. On Sunday, we ran a loop around Purdue together, followed by eating bagels in silence; all the while drinking coffee and reading USA Today at Einstein's. And later, what a pleasure it was to look at my freshly mulched yard from across the street, as I stood next to my husband and talked about future projects to spruce up the homestead. Of course, we'll have to see if the in-laws will watch the kids over Father's Day weekend if we really want to accomplish any of those plans.

Discussions of the Utmost Importance

To break up the monotony of my annoying pseudo-philosophical ramblings, I decided to make a short list of things that have come from the mouths of my children. Please feel free to comment with hilarity from your own home.

1. Sawyer: (motioning to larger chair among regular sized chairs in the Dr.'s waiting room) Mom, why are these chairs so big?

Me: I think they're for people who have bigger booties.

Sawyer: The girl who cleans my teeth at the dentist's office has a big booty. (Whispering in a low, deep voice) It's really big.

2. Eamon: I have a penis like Sawyer has.

Me: Sawyer does not have a penis.

Eamon: Sawyer has a girl penis.

Me: It's called a vagina.

3. Eamon: Mama! Look at my penis!

Me: No thank you, son.

4. Sawyer: Mama! Eamon stuck his finger in his butt and then ate carrots!

Me: Eamon, go wash your hands.

Sawyer: Mama, is that disgusting?

Me: Uh, yeah.

5. Madeline: (With due sympathy) Mommy, why are your boobs so small?

Me: Some bodies have big boobs, some have small boobs.

Madeline: Yours are really small (now very sympathetic).

Me: Your chances of having big ones depends solely on your Nana's genetic influence.

6. Madeline: (After reading The Care and Keeping of You- a book on puberty) Mom, what stage of breast development are you in?

Me: Post-lactation.

Madeline: That's not listed in the book.

7. Me: Madeline, you look one of the contestants on fear factor when you eat green beans.

Madeline: I know that show, it's the one where they make you eat moose penis.

Me: Yes, yes it is.

Madeline: I saw it at Uncle Max's house.

8. Me: (As I begin to play the song on Youtube) Sawyer, are you singing "What a Wonderful World" in music class?

Sawyer: I don't want to hear that song Mama! It makes me cry on the inside.

Me: Sawyer, that is why people love that song, it makes us all cry a little bit on the inside.

9. (As she is about to be disowned from our family for whining and terrible behavior) Sawyer: Mom! Look at that balloon! (Points to the sky as a balloon floats high in the air) It's going to see Grandma Phyllis. (Great Grandma Phyllis passed in February.)

10. Eamon (To every woman who looks a day older than I): Hi Grandma! Mama! That's a Grandma!

We're pretty open in the DeWitt house. We don't use euphemisms for taboo body parts or bodily functions. My husband is even a bit creeped out by how brutally honest I will be with our children. The fact is, I'm fairly certain that our open discussions will lead to our children hearing the truth from Jason and I, and not on the school bus. Our openness is especially fun when put into action with my parents. Here are two final examples of our children making my parents super uncomfortable at meal times:

11. Sawyer: (As she and my mother eat breakfast) Grandma, you have a vagina and Pop-Pop has a penis. Mommy and Madda have vaginas too. Daddy and Eamon have penises too.

My mother: (Clearly incredibly uncomfortable) Sawyer, eat your cereal.

12. Eamon: (As he walks into the dining room with a spoon on Easter Sunday) I'm gonna put this Elmo spoon on my penis.

Jason and I: laughing our asses off.

Madeline and Sawyer: Cracking up.

My mom and stepdad: Red as lobsters.

Maybe my training as a social worker has led me to take this honesty thing a bit too far......