Because I work with children all day (super busy bees!) and have two children of my own, daydreaming about solitude occurs from time to time. To be alone! Ahhhhh! To stand in silence. I dream.
But it is within community that we find meaning in our lives and our work. You might work alone, but your work inevitably touches people. If it doesn’t, it’s not of value.
I was talking to a friend who is also a mom. She was concerned about her daughter and who she’s been hanging out with at school and on weekends. My friend is divorced, so half the time she has absolutely no control over her child’s social activities. (The father is much looser with supervision).
We discussed the challenges of parenthood in an age where our kids can maintain a full social calendar in virtual reality.
We discussed peer pressure. Cattiness. Meanness.
We discussed drug and alcohol abuse among 13 (yes, 13) year-olds.
We discussed how kids are sneaking out of the house at 1am and trespassing in other people’s yards and pools. Here in Arizona America, where guns are ubiquitous, I can see someone shooting one of these kids in the dark. Absolutely. Unfortunately.
We discussed the very fine line between parenting and controlling.
I thought to myself, how lucky I am to have daughters who get excellent grades and work hard at everything. How lucky I am to have daughters who talk to me, show me silly Instagram posts and get along with each other so well.
And then I realized that I rarely tell them this. I think it a lot. I tell my friends and family. But I don’t tell my daughters to their face how I know it’s challenging to be them right now. I don’t acknowledge the dangers, pitfalls and temptations that they have in terms of technology, risky behavior and drugs. Instead, I tell them to not buy into society’s pressures to be “pretty” and primp in front of the mirror. I tell them that they need to learn how to manage money, or it will manage them. I tell them it’s important to get good grades and do well in music so that they can get college scholarships.
But today, I acknowledged them. I acknowledged the hard work, the struggle, the pain…and that I appreciate their fight. The 13-year-old looked me straight in the eyes and said, “I love you, mom.”
I laugh a lot all day while I work.
Kids say the funniest things. There are entire shows and books about the humor of children. As a teacher, I also get a lot of hugs. AND, I really like the other teachers, my co-workers. We laugh a lot together. This job is pretty awesome.
Many years ago, I had a position in a money management firm where the “COO” (Chief Operating Officer, or soft murmuring sound made by a pigeon – (you choose)) walked briskly from his office to my cubicle and told me, “You are laughing too much and too loudly.” And then he stomped back to his office with a grand view of the San Francisco Bay. He made a lot of money. He died a couple years ago. I hope he laughed before he went.
I’ve held other jobs where I didn’t laugh all day. Isn’t that sad? I mean, it would have been inappropriate – unprofessional – to do so. The guys in suits, taking themselves so seriously and looking down at you for being….happy you.
You know what? It’s them, not you. You’re not too loud, or too happy. You’re not unprofessional (unless you’re taking lots of cigarette breaks, or calling in sick all the time, or just not doing your job). You are fine just the way you are. If your boss doesn’t like you, or if you’re unhappy, you might consider changing your job.
Just sayin’.
Instead, hold her while she cries. Tell her it’s OK and that she can handle it. Because she can.
The Setting: San Francisco, Mt. Vernon Street
Me: Stay-at-home mom to two young babies, both in diapers. I keep a vigilant eye on the girls, change them as soon as they soil their diapers. Feed them healthy food and push them on swings in the park.
You: Your usual goofy self – the “Mayor” of our street; very sociable. Your impressions of famous people make everyone laugh.
By the time you get home from work, I’m in serious need of “me” time. You swoop Ava under your arm, carrying her like a football. Josie walks under your feet and so does Maggie our Labrador. With your one free hand, you carry a cabernet and say, “Bye honey, relax. Enjoy some solitude. I love you.” You and the family are out the door, to visit the “Different Boys” – a group of young, single party guys up the block.
The silence in the house is deafening. I don’t know what to do with my free time. I’m glad to have it, but also miss you, the girls and the dog. After a bubble bath, I get worried. You are not as “obsessed” as me when it comes to safety. So I get dressed and walk up to the boys’ house. No one answers. The front door is unlocked and I walk in. There are papers and clothes piled up everywhere in the house. I walk some more. On the pool table are Josie and Ava, wearing only diapers now. Where are their shirts? Ava has the 8 ball in her hand. She holds it up to her mouth and slobbers all over it. Josie has a ball and chucks it off the table and onto the floor. The ball bounces off the hard wood floor.
You are in the next room, lying on someone’s bed, drinking and talking to Matt-the-Artist. Maggie lies next to you.
“Uh, Willey, I think I’ll take the girls home.”
“Why? Honey, just stay. Relax. Grab a beer.”
“Oh, thank you. But the girls need their baths, their books read to them…we need to get ready for dinner and then bed.”
You look at me adoringly.
“Ok. I’m going to finish my wine here. I’ll bring Maggie.”
I take the girls home. You come home shortly, and we eat dinner right after you tickle the girls silly.
Tonight, our school, the Mesa Academy for Advanced Studies, will recognize award winners.
Students grades 4 – 8 will receive a plaque or a certificate or a trophy for Perfect Attendance, Honor Roll (GPA) and outstanding work in extracurricular activities.
It’s a night to publicly celebrate hard work and dedication.
Students who earn these awards do so because they push themselves consistently. They work hard every day and they reach their self-made goals because they want to do their best all the time. Some may do it for their parents or for the recognition. Others do it because seeing anything but an “A” on their report card means “all is well” or “I’m OK.”
Recognizing your hard work and appreciating excellent work is important.
However, ribbons, plaques and trophies are extrinsic motivators. Intrinsic rewards are the most powerful and enduring of all motivators. Do it because you love it. Some of our most famous and beloved actors* worked for decades before winning the other Academy Award:
Humphrey Bogart
Paul Newman
John Wayne
Judi Dench
Martin Scorsese
Morgan Freeman
Henry Fonda
Jessica Tandy
Before, during and after receiving their awards, they worked dutifully to perfect their craft.
One of the writing prompts to my students last week: Think of something you must do. Maybe you have to do a chore. Now, put it in a sentence. For example, “I have to take out the garbage.” Make it a true sentence. Now, replace the words “have to” with “get to.” Do you see or feel a difference?
One of my fifth graders wrote this:
“I have to do the dishes. I GET to do the dishes. I have food I get to clean off the dishes. I ate food with my family last night. My dad, my stepmom, my brother and I talked and laughed and ate food and then I got to clean the food off the plates. I am really lucky because I have food to eat. I have a family to love. And I get to do the dishes.”
Screen time is commonly known as time spent on any electronic: TV, computers, tablets, hand held video games and even cell phones.
Josie, (aka Instagram Queen), was on my iPad scrolling and commenting on various pictures. Scroll, comment, scroll, comment. Ava was on her laptop watching YouTube videos of past and present winners of The Voice. They hardly looked up as I put my things away, changed my clothes and started dinner. I asked them how their day was, what happened in school…and they responded with grunts and monosyllabic answers: “Good, fine….” I noticed that I had to nudge and then nag them to practice violin, something they used to do more willingly.
So I made a decision. With husband’s agreement (it won’t work if only one parent is enforcing it), I decided to confiscate and hide all electronics until violin practice and homework had been completed. Do you know how hard it is to hide an 84″ flat screen TV? It worked. Ava completed her homework and violin practice and then played catch with Opal in the street. Josie completed all of her work and then picked up dog poo from the backyard! They conversed with me and I learned that Ava is very fond of her new friends Lucy and Caroline at school and Josie is frustrated that her math went from an A to a B.
Ahhhhhh! I had my family back! It felt mean and terrible to do, but I’m their mother, not their friend. I cannot allow them to become Screen Time Zombies in lieu of communicative students and daughters. I encourage you to try this, at the very least, put pass codes on your devices (I did!) and don’t allow them screen time until the work is done.
1 [boo
l-ee] Show IPA noun, plural bul·lies.
1. a blustering, quarrelsome, overbearing person who habitually badgers and intimidates
smaller or weaker people.
2. Archaic. a man hired to do violence.
*www.dictionary.com
the action(s). We (society) are more apt to think of ways to prevent bullying or solve the problem if we understand the cause and include it in the definition.
I was relieved, but wondered, “Is she really OK?” I had been asking her all week if there was something wrong, she hadn’t talked about her friends in a couple weeks. She said everything was fine. This is not like her, to hide such things from me. With the Internet, smart phones and tablets, it’s all too easy to carry on several conversations at once, even destructive ones. We must remain diligent in our efforts to fight bullying, but it has to start with the bullies. Parents need to be crystal clear in what is acceptable and what is not. One student has apologized, but her did not communicate anything to us or our daughter. She simply allowed her daughter to say, “I’m sorry.” As I told Ava, “Actions speak louder than words.” We shall see how things go.
This is their second year. The Symphony is made up of four divisions, with Division IV being the most junior, and Division I is made up primarily of 8th and 9th graders, the highest level of the Symphony. They hold chair auditions three times a year.
The girls jumped right up to Division III from the beginning and we were all amazed. Since then, with each audition for a new seat, they’ve moved up. I warned them that this is highly unusual, and that they should be prepared for moving down at some point. After all, they’ve observed this happening to many others in the group. This year, they made it to Division II, Violin I, and I told them that this is quite an accomplishment, that they ought to be proud and keep working hard.
The girls auditioned. When I asked how it went, Josie was quite confident that she did well. Ava was less sure, “I messed up on a few measures. But I think I did OK.” It turns out that Josie jumped many seats up. Ava moved down about 15 chairs. This was traumatic for her. This was her first “fail” (although I didn’t see it that way). For a week, she slumped and was sad. She mentioned a viola player who did the same thing: he was 2nd chair and fell to second to last. “Mom, I noticed this boy, he fell many seats and he used to sit really tall. He was proud and now, he has terrible posture. He is always frowning and he doesn’t look like he wants to be there.” I asked her, “And what do you think of that?” “I think it’s sad.” A few weeks passed. “Mom, remember that viola player I told you about?” “Yes.” “Well, I noticed he’s still slumped and depressed. I even wonder if he’ll quit.” I expected her to tell me how she was going to cheer him up. I thought she would share with me her plan.
“I’ve decided that I don’t deserve to sit where I’m sitting. I messed up in the audition, but I’m better than 22nd chair. I’ve decided that no matter what happens, no matter where I’m sitting, I will sit as if I am sitting where I DESERVE to sit.”
I was blown away. This is something I learned late in life: Disregard what others think of me and hold my head up high. She’s only ten years old. How did she know this?
“Wow Ava, I am very proud of you. That is amazing that you came up with that on your own.”
“Well, this boy, he’s very good too and he shouldn’t let it affect him this way.”
Yet another life lesson learned through their serious violin practice.
Kismet 