Creating Meaning Amongst the Madness

My daughter's large school district went "back to school" this past Tuesday. For my kindergarten and second grader it went great. Their on-line classes were an hour, and were extremely well-run by their teachers. I was exhausted by just navigating our new schedule and helping them get online by the time my second grader finished up, but also impressed.

Then we woke up Wednesday morning. 

My girls were struggling the moment they woke up, and I soon realized it was because we'd lost what we had to look forward to. For awhile, we looked forward to Easter and then as soon as Easter was over we turned our attention to starting virtual school. Once that first day was completed we woke up on Wednesday to literally nothing else to look forward to but the routines inside our house. Of course, my children did not express this outright themselves, but after taking a moment and feeling where we were and reflecting on a class I'd been in the night before, I put it together. We took time and planned a virtual party for them and their friends on Friday. Clearly we are going to needing to actively work on making our own events we can look forward to in these coming weeks.

The "nothing to look forward to" problem solved, I busily started the day to prepare them for getting ready for virtual school - until we got an email saying there was a two hour delay due to improving security issues. OK, we can roll with this... Then we got another email from one teacher saying they were going to meet as planned... OK, we can roll with that. Our heads were starting to spin but this was important to our kids. Then we sat down to log on ... and tried... and tried... and tried. At first the error messages we were getting were amusing because they changed each time - Access forbidden! Error - try again! Network not available! You stupid parent, why can't you log on? 

All of us were in tears, trying to log on using different devices, scanning Facebook to find out if other parents were in the same boat. "Keep trying" someone recommended on facebook. But no one said they got in.

Finally we sent an email to teacher saying we loved her but that we couldn't do this anymore. We'll try again tomorrow. 

It was by far the worst day of our quarantine yet. 

SO, we put down our expectations and hopes of the day and just sat in our disappointment. No more rolling with it. No more "this is going to be OK!" We let ourselves just sit in the suckiness of it all. And it sucked. 

Yes, it sucks that we are stuck inside and you can't finish kindergarten in person. It sucks that there will be no kindergarten parade for you. We won't have our Kentucky Derby party. We can't hug our family members. You can't do gymnastics. We can't go to the park. You can't see your friends. You can't see your teachers. You've lost your autonomy outside of our family. It just sucks. 

Sometimes we need to feel it all.

And so, 

we ate ice cream Sundays for lunch. 

We held each other.

We colored our massive coloring page a bit.

Amazon came and delivered all the audiobooks I ordered last week. I let my children stay in their pjs, blow off their virtual taekwondo classes, and binge listen to the Boxcar Children. They listened to THREE novels. At one point my husband and I wondered what they were up to. They were so quiet we were sure they were up to no good, but we were both getting work done so we let it go. Turns out, the girls were re-organizing their bookshelves while they listened.

My husband and I recognized that our low moods were not going to let us get any more work done today so we turned off our computers and walked away. We took time for us, ordered delivery for dinner, and just sat as a family.

That night at dinner we were able to reflect on the "worst day yet", and you know what, that reflection made it all worth it. We recognized all the things we needed to do to calm down, talking about how we are problem solvers and we can get through this and do hard things - but that sometimes to do hard things you just need to breath. One of my girls commented on the fact that I was really good at taking deep breaths while we were trying to get onto their classes today - and we talked about why I'd stopped talking for a bit and just started breathing.

We made meaning of all of it. 

Research and academic writing on what makes children resilient shows that resilient children are not those with perfect childhoods, perfect parents, or children who are naturally not bothered by anything. Instead, resiliency is built from recognizing hard moments, sitting with those uncomfortable feelings, and reflecting on them later. We build our resiliency when we make meaning from how we handled the conflict, or how we restored a mismatch.

Yes, we lost it and yelled at someone, we sat and cried, we ate ice cream for lunch. Now, instead of ignoring the feelings we had then, we take those moments and create meaning. 

On-line learning in our district is postponed until Monday so they can work out the kinks in the system. I now know better than to put all of our hope on Monday. There will be future bad days, and there may be many of them. We can't avoid them, we can hide from them, and we can't just pretend everything is OK. 

These are the moments life is based on, and these are the moments we can come together and create the meaning we will rely on to move forward with the rest of our lives. 

So breath deeply, slow down, honor the feelings of sadness and despair. Sometimes we need to go slow to go fast.

And listen to Elmo's daddy. 

Welcome to the Upside Down - PANDAS Post

Most people in the special education world - parents, teachers, or therapists - are familiar with "Welcome to Holland". A short essay on how when you think that you are headed to Italy as a parent along with everyone else, but instead you end up in Holland. Holland has a whole different language than what you prepared for, different expectations and experiences, but it's still a wonderful place. Just different.

I used to love Welcome to Holland. It was a beautiful way to look at the world.

With PANDAS, I think it's more like "Welcome to the Upside Down" straight out of Stranger Things.

You are in Rome, hanging out in Rome, loving your time there, when all of a sudden, you aren't. It looks like Rome and you can still see remnants of Rome, but instead it's all dark and cloudy - Rome with decay. There is screaming and crying and its cold.

There are portals back to the real world. Portals through antibiotics, gluten, sugar free, and all sorts of theories - the mold portal, the no chlorine portal - steroids and Motrin portals. Which one will work? Which one is worth the journey? Some offer sort glimpses into the real world, but in the end you just get pulled back into the Upside Down.

Yesterday, my youngest and I went to a birthday party for her classmate. I'm apprehensive going to these things because I'm never sure which world we'll be living in. The happy, delighted, playful world, or the upside down - screaming, crying, clinging, angry Upside Down.

I could tell my daughter was fighting to stay upright. She was hesitant, avoided good friends who might make loud noises and stayed close to me. At one point - honestly the cutest moment in any child's birthday party ever - the birthday girl began singing the Star Spangled Banner to kick off the party. Everyone joined in at this sweet moment. Except my child. Whose hands were on her ears.

I held my breath the whole time, worried we'd have an explosion and screaming. She held it together - I think she was just protecting herself from a possible sensory overload. But the optics- not so good. Later, the family posted the video on facebook and of course there were comments about the girl with her hands over her ears. They were funny comments - really - so many possible captions - but so heartbreaking at the same time. I started to comment with an explanation about sensory needs and then just stopped. How do I explain that we have one foot in the Upside Down and one here with the rest of you, and the hands over the ears are part of our fight to stay here?

The negative Impact of teacher language

"I know you all are old enough to know better!"

"Do as I say 'cause I know you all can!"

"Do I need to take all these books home with me? I can't even get through one page without you interrupting. Look at this ridiculousness."

"Don't touch my things!"

My heart is breaking. This isn't what I heard adults say to children - this is what my daughter is yelling at her stuffed animals while playing school. This is apparently what she's being exposed to.

"You guys want to disrespect on your first day of fun stuff?"

"Like yesterday was a good example, but now you guys are just yelling and things like that. You all are like animals."

It just keeps going. Those stuffed animals are clearly having a tough time in school.

"You guys should know what to do."

"You guys know better." 

"I'm going to give you the special treat after, but only if you are good."

"Monk-monk, I don't want to hear a word from you."

"Whose book is this? Just left over here? Well, bye-bye your book honey! I guess you don't want it anymore you just leave it around."

So many of these phrases are ones that I hate hearing teachers use. They go against Ross Green's statement of belief, "Kids do well if they can."

And they aren't effective. These statements don't change behavior. They just make grown ups feel like they are in control of the situation, and remind the grown up that they are bigger than the child.

Last week my daughter came downstairs sobbing in the middle of the night. She shook her finger at me and shouted, "YOU ARE TEACHING ME BAD HABITS! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" The next morning, she wouldn't talk to me about it, and wouldn't share where she got that idea from. But I suspect it was either said directly to her, or she overheard it from a teacher.

Comments like that - even something as simple as "In your house you may put your feet on the table, but here we use manners!" serve to build a wall between home and school. They send the message to the child that whatever is going on at home is wrong, and only school is correct. For many families - this is also a culture divide, where a white teacher is telling a child of another race that their culture is wrong. That's clearly not the case here, but the judgement I feel from the school is all the same.

It was a rough PANDAS day. At the end of the day my oldest put her head on my shoulder and said, "I wish there was no such thing as PANDAS."

Me too, my love. Me too.

Morning Drop Off - PANDAS Parent

There is nothing like a rough daycare drop off to just rock one's day. My day began with a child refusing to get out the car, being carried into the school, and screams of "STUPID MOMMY!" as we passed the babies and toddler rooms. Lots of big eyes on little children following us as we walked past.

Before PANDAS I never realized how awful the concept of school can feel. Knowingly walking away from a child in a rage and leaving her for the whole day with other adults goes against every parenting instinct in my body.

I've been one of those professionals distracting, comforting, and holding the enraged child, and so I know that usually the child calms down after the parent leaves and all is well. Usually. When my children were infants my daycare provider used to text pictures of their happy faces ten minutes after I left so that I would know they were already happily engaged in their day. What I would give for that type of tearful drop-off anxiety again. That was typical - the kind every child goes through.

Now, as I leave, I have no idea if the rage that was directed at me will now be directed at her teachers or friends. Will the Motrin kick in and reduce the brain inflammation, or will she continue to hold onto her angry feelings?

If she remains angry, how do I know the adults will react appropriately? Us PANDAS parents know just how much rage our children can incite in us, and we love these kids and know what's going on. With teachers? How do we know that our child's behavior won't bring out the worst in the teacher? How can we be confident that our child won't be treated harshly, physically picked up with too much force, or yelled at inappropriately? We know just how bad our children's behavior can be - it requires a very calm adult to react in a way that will allow for the child to become calm and develop new skills from the experience. How do I know that my child won't be learning to identify herself as a "bad kid" from how the school reacts to her behavior?

I don't. I have to trust. Whether or not trust is the right answer is unknown.

I pull my car out of the parking lot, and send prayers of strength to my child's teachers and prayers of calmness to my child. Please, please let today be a good day. Let today's anger dissipate and let there be the giggles, happy play, and love of school that is typical for preschoolers.

PANDAS Parent enemy of the week - SUGAR

I stood at the Lollipop 8 and under Swim Meet on Sunday evening and literally felt like sugar was attacking me. Everywhere I turned another piece of sugar popped up to tempt my children. It was, after all, called the Lollipop Meet, and they were given a lollipop after every race they swam. What did I expect was going to happen? On top of the lollipops, there was candy, snacks, snow cones with marshmallow cream topping... the list goes on and on.

Why does so much of summer depend on sweet treats?

Don't get me wrong - I have a huge sweet tooth myself and can barely resist anything remotely filled with sugar. And while I've always worked to have my girls eat healthy food, I've accepted a balance. Before PANDAS I knew that a snow cone, a lollipop, a cupcake, wasn't going to hurt them. They are great at eating fruits and vegetables and so sure - indulging in sugar every now and then is a part of childhood. 

Then, PANDAS hit, and in my search for answers to how to survive and recover from this disease I learned that it is a good idea to go sugar and gluten free. We put it off as long as we could, but after we realized how uncomfortable we are with our kids extended run of antibiotics, we decided we needed to try the dietary restrictions too.

We let the girls have one last hurrah on our family beach trip - Lucky Charms, ice cream, cookies, pizza - even soda - gasp. Then we came home, and over the last week have been cutting back significantly. 

It. Is. So. Hard.

There is sugar lurking everywhere. And don't even get me started on gluten. 

We've given ourselves until the end of the month to be fully gluten free, so right now we are limiting what we can and then making notes of the changes we need to make in the future. Bring our own gluten free and sugar free treats to birthday parties? Bring our own gluten free buns to swim meets and picnics? Not eat hot dogs because apparently they can be stuffed with gluten filler?? Life is about to get even more complicated. 

We took the girls to Whole Foods and let them get excited about choosing very exciting gluten free snacks, and the best gluten free bread there is. My husband silently cried at the dollar up charge on all the gluten free products, and I tried to stay upbeat as I sold the cauliflower cheese crackers. Mmmmm! Delicious!

The girls were appropriately excited. The next morning they peered at the dark, dense bread with hope. It looked so good compared to the other options. My oldest took one bite and burst into tears. That bite represented the taste of her new reality, and it wasn't a good one.

So Sunday night I felt like a warrior, bravely fighting the sugar wack-a-mole game that was the Lollipop meet. We evilly collected their lollipops after each race and promised them they would get to eat them at another time. (In the future we'll bring a sugar-free alternative, but we are still new to this). We calmly denied any of their requests for the sugar-filled-happiness snacks we used to let them buy at concessions, because, after all, it was a swim meet. I remember eating jello mix from the box at swim meets in my childhood. Swim meets = sugar.

Toward the end of the meet we found the five year old huddled on the side of her lounge chair, her head turned and tilted off to the side so we couldn't see her mouth. Her shoulders were slumped over in pure relief. One look at the back of her head told us exactly what she was doing. She'd snuck a hit of lollipop. 

The removal of the lollipop wasn't a pretty sight, nor was post-removal scene as the entire shallow end of the poop stared at the show we were giving them. To my daughter's credit, I'd probably react the same way if I'd had a lollipop taken out of my mouth. Not that she should have had it in the first place, but it wasn't a good situation for any of us.

Sadly, we've seen a great change in their ability to recover from stress now that we've limited sugar, so we're going to keep at it. (Except at night when I'm secretly eating nutella out of the jar, hiding in the laundry room when no one can find me.) 

Oh hello, ten pounds (PANDAS Mom Post)

Oh hello, ten new pounds. Nice to meet you. (I lie through my teeth). I'm desperately hoping we can keep your growth to a minimum, but you came on so fast that nothing feels guaranteed. It says something about this disease's impact on our family that I didn't gain any weight when my husband had cancer but now... 

I was initially shocked by your appearance, but then I remembered all those late night moments, standing in my kitchen, not even tasting the food. One more spoonful of Nutella will clearly fix everything in my life. Apparently this winter and spring I did an excellent job of eating my feelings.

I'm not confident that I can get you to disappear anytime soon, as that would take a cognitive load that right now is devoted to tracking my children's own nutrition intake, medication, and behavioral patterns.

And someone has to eat all the sugar and gluten-filled food that we no longer let our children eat.

News From the Other Side of the Parenting Fence (The beginning of sharing my family's journey with PANDAS)

It's been a long time since I've written here. 5 months in fact. A lot has been happening within those last five months, and life has been busy. But I realized lately that something is missing from my life- and it's my ability to write and process my life. Time, of course, has been a big issue - between seeing clients, running groups, working at a school, and parenting my own kids there just isn't time to pull out the computer. But also, I've struggled with how and if I should share my story because as a mom, it is no longer just my story - it is the story of my family and my children.

And yet, I keep finding myself composing blog posts in my head, and contemplating how to share my inner thoughts, because I know I can't be alone in the parenting struggle. What's more - my current parenting perspective has shifted so drastically that I want other teachers and professionals to hear what it is like on this side of the fence.

Welcome to the Other Side:
So welcome, over here, to the other side of the fence. The one where we avoid eye contact with other parents because we don't know what their child says about our child. The one where we dread going to pick up our child from school because the teacher's report will make or break the rest of our day. The one where we know those staring eyes see us and say, "If only you were a better parent."

How did I end up on this side of the fence? You'd never tell from my instagram pics of my smiling girls. If you are facebook friends with me, you may think my daughter's sassy sayings are what's brought us here, but it's far from it.

I'd say my family climbed over this fall, each day climbing down one rung. Of course, I'm familiar with what happens over here, because I've stood on top of the fence and talked down to the parents on this side for years. I've listened sympathetically, offered support, suggestions, and yet, really, had no idea what these parents were going through.

PANDAS
In the past year, both of our girls have been diagnosed with Pediatric Autoimmune Neuropsychotic Disorders Associated with Strep (PANDAS). Ironically, pandas are some of our family's favorite animals, but we're slowly coming to hate them.

This disease -when the strep bacteria crosses the blood brain barrier and the strep antibodies start attacking the basal ganglia of the brain - is horrid. There are no other words to describe how our children have been eaten up by the monster that is PANDAS. There are fits of rage, anger, OCD tendencies, tics, separation anxiety, heightened sensory sensitivity... the list goes on and on. Yet we are some of the lucky ones. Our pediatrician recognized it early in both girls, and got us started on our treatment quickly. Many other PANDAS stories cross over years and years of fighting for some professional to recognize the disease. It is still considered fairly controversial and unknown.

Not My Journey Alone
Although writing is what I use to process my thoughts and calm my own brain, I struggle to write about our journey with PANDAS. Because it's not just my journey to describe, but a journey my family is on together. I'm not sure what my girls will think when they read this years from now - if they'll appreciate looking back on this hard time, or if they'll feel guilty for the pain my husband and I feel (dear girls, please - you have nothing to feel guilty about - I'm not implying that you should), of if they'll be upset by the invasion of privacy when they did not have a say.

But I don't want to hide our journey, because it is a journey. Last year, when my husband had cancer, we didn't hide anything. We healed because we let people in, we allowed them to help us, and we were prayed for and loved by our community. When you have a disease with neuropsychotic in the name, there isn't a lot of sharing, praying, and casserole bringing. It's just not done.

But we should be able to share this. My girls have done nothing wrong in catching this disease, and as we fight to treat it we have nothing to hide. It's hard, and awful, and not easy to describe.

I'm not going to share the ins and outs of what happens in my house or how PANDAS manifests itself in my girls. I will share my own struggles, thoughts, and realizations as I move from being a parent of "sweet kids" to a parent of "those kids" in the eyes of others. I'll share the fight to advocate for my children's needs, the desperate need to be understood by some school official or doctor, and the defeated moments of feeling that this disease has eaten our family. And hopefully, I can share success too.

Are you here, too?
If you are here, on the other side of the fence, watching the other parents share their child's great report cards, and sports achievements, friends, artwork, and wonderful reports from school - I'm sending you a hug. The "right" side of the fence always seems to be competing. They are so proud of their kids over there. We're proud of our kids too. Really proud. Yet, it's not like we can drop reading levels or test scores. "Yeah, so even without Motrin to decrease the brain inflammation, my daughter self-regulated and was able to stay calm enough to sit on stage even though she didn't sing." I'm SO FREAKING PROUD OF HER.  "My rock star daughter didn't jump into the pool right away at the swim meet, but once those other swimmers were halfway down the pool she got in!! She didn't walk away! She FINISHED HER RACE!" I mean - totally pride. She's not a quitter. And today - she hugged me and went to school - no fighting, clinging, screaming or crying. WIN.
Not facebook worthy, but a win all the same.

I'm sharing this story because as a teacher, both in special education and general education, I had no idea what it was like to be on this side of the fence. I thought I did, but I didn't. Because people on this side of the fence don't talk about it, don't share it, and often get blamed. As though they are too lazy to climb over the fence and join the "good families" on the other side. Trust me friends, now I know, it's not laziness. My friends on this side of the fence in the corse, high grass - we are fighting for our lives.

The Parent's View of Responsive Classroom

I've written about Responsive Classroom often over the years. As a classroom teacher I lived and breathed Responsive Classroom. I read all the books, went to as many trainings as I could, and worked hard on making my classroom as RC as possible. I did this not because I was trying to be a groupy, but because through my teacher eyes I saw that it worked. If I followed RC then my life was easier. I was putting out less fires and I was teaching more.

But that was through my teaching lens.

My daughter just started a new preschool and she's ridiculously happy with life. The change in her at the end of the day is noticeable. She's calmer and yet has more energy than she did two weeks ago at her old preschool. We loved her old preschool, and so did she, so it seems strange that we would see this shift in her at the end of the day. As she described what she did in school one day I made comments to my husband that this new school was "Very RC". He of course has no idea what this means, so just nodded in agreement. Then I read her teacher notes from the day and felt this was all very familiar. I've taught this before... not in preschool, but this structure, this plan. I could almost tell you what was coming next. Yesterday morning I walked in to see the blue First Six Weeks of School book sitting on a table, tabbed and well-loved. When I asked her teacher about it she beamed. Yes, it's what she's been using, every year. She loves it. (Of course she does. Anyone who has used it loves it.)

For the first time I'm seeing Responsive Classroom through a parent's lens. I'm seeing how my daughter appreciates the slow, deliberate nature in how everything is introduced in her classroom. She knows what the rules are and what to expect on a daily basis. She has more energy at the end of the day because she hasn't spent her energy anxiously trying to interpret what is going on in the classroom and what will be expected of her. But it is a calm energy. She has the energy to re-count her day, tell me what she learned, model how to line up, and how to be a "good schoolmate". Before she had good days at school but she came home and crashed. She was exhausted from trying to teach herself the social curriculum.

While we loved her other school and her teachers, we did not know what the world could be with a little Responsive Classroom in place. I feel like I am re-discovering RC in a whole new light. I want to preach from the rooftops, yes, yes, yes! People, this doesn't just work because it is a trend or a program or something to do because the school system suggested it. It is a way to talk to kids to get them ready to learn. To help them feel secure and safe in their learning environment.

Mommy Fears and Gaining Insight

I stood in the middle of the perfect preschool classroom and listened to the director talk about the importance of play, the small group, differentiated instruction the children receive, and the deliberate room set up to maximize child engagement. It was perfect. Except that three days a week the day is conducted in Spanish.

The director assured me that I would be amazed at my child's progress and how quickly she would pick up the language. She told me how sensitive the teachers are and how they would be in-tune to my daughter's comfort level. I nodded along because I've given the exact speech many times to parents - although always through the use of an interpreter. I know from my own first hand experience how quickly children pick up another language. It's mind blowing to watch young children adapt and learn English. I tell parents all the time that they have given their child the gift of knowing two languages. 

But my own daughter?

It's stunning to be on the other side and realize just what those parents are feeling. I always knew the parents were worried but this isn't an emotion that can be described through one word. It is gnawing feeling deep in the gut, along with a panicked and desperate need to protect my child. I cannot imagine dropping my baby off to a place where they are not speaking English. To just walk away and leave her there to figure out what they are saying, desperately hoping she will know enough to follow the rules and make friends.*

I am in awe of the parents of the children I teach. They have no choice but to send their child off every day to an English speaking school. And we aren't a bilingual program designed to nurture your child's dual language development. We are pretty much straight English and if the child is lucky people nearby may know some of the child's language in order to communicate in those first few days.

We talk about a silent period students go through when they first enter English speaking schools. I know enough of this to accept it and chalk it up as normal. But to ask my own child to go through a silent period in school? Nothing could possibly seem more wrong. When it is my daughter it does not seem normal, it seems cruel. And my husband and I have a choice. We can choose this for our daughter (and we might, for a variety of reasons. She loves the idea and is currently obsessed with Spanish although she knows about three words. I can recognize my fears come from the same place as when I gasp whenever she eats a whole grape or is on an extra tall playground) 

Standing there inside my almost-dream preschool classroom I was flooded with mommy-anxiety mixed with awe for the parents I work with. In many cases they gave up the comfort and familiarity of their former lives to come to America and to ask their children to go to school in a place where they won't understand the language. Sending their child off to a school where they do not speak the language is a better situation than where they came from. My nervousness about Spanish three days a week for a year seems minuscule compared to the life decisions they have already faced. 

I probably will continue to reassure parents of how quickly their child will pick up English and how much they will love school, yet it will never again be a rehearsed speech that I give without thinking. 

*I don't write this to sound anti-bilingual education. Cognitively I realize that we would be giving my daughter a gift. In many ways this is the perfect situation and we are considering it. I am writing this to recognize how my own internal mommy-fears must also be what other parents feel, yet on a broader scale.

Egg Hunt Drama

Tell me you haven't also been reading the Easter egg hunt disaster stories with fascination. Who are these horrible parents? Why do they care so much about their child finding the plastic eggs? What is wrong with our society? All these thoughts have gone through  my head, yet on Sunday, while trying to cattle prod my two year old into participating in the egg hunt I started to see some of the parenting frustration that can lead to the crazy.

Our church has a lovely egg hunt every year organized by the middle schoolers. They even hide the eggs for the toddlers inside a fenced in playground and keep the older kids away. The eggs for toddlers are filled with healthy snacks like crackers and gummies instead of jelly beans and chocolates, which is very thoughtful and I'm in support of until I'm trapped inside the toddler fence knowing Mr. Lipstick is devouring the jelly beans our four year old brings him and all I have are stickers and goldfish.

Instead of watching a sugar-crazed four-year-old run like a mad woman from tree to tree and deliver candy into my hands, I was with my two year old, desperately trying to get her to pick up a plastic egg. Just one. Just get one plastic egg darling. It's right there... yes, pick it up, no, don't put it back. It's for you! With everything else in your life you yell "MINE" why not this? Just lean over and pick it... oh wait, another kid just took it. OK, let's pick up that pink one over there... Quickly, before the other kid gets it again...  I suddenly felt sympathy for all of those egg hunt crazy parents out there. They probably were lovely people until they experienced the unending frustration of trying to make their two year old have fun. 

Littlest Lipstick had no interest in finding plastic eggs. Absolutely none. She sucked her fingers and looked at me with her skeptical "my mommy is crazy" eyes as I kept trying to convince her to pick up that blue plastic egg at her feet before another kid did. She obviously did not understand why we were standing next to a playground and she wasn't playing- and why I kept telling her to pick up items on the ground when usually I make her drop the pieces of trash-treasure she somehow digs up on any other playground. She stared at me like this was some sort of trap.

I knew I couldn't pick up the eggs myself- that would be wrong. It was for the kids. But my kid wasn't participating- she was missing out on this moment! Her childhood was flashing before my eyes. This is it- her two year old Easter- it only happens once! She must find eggs!

Plus, the eggs were EVERYWHERE. There was nothing hidden about them. All she needed to do was bend over and pick up the egg. Or turn around. Or go down the slide. Just going down the slide would knock down a few eggs. I could catch them in the basket and we could count that as finding them.

She found one egg. She's not impressed.

I wasn't alone. The playground was full of parents equally frustrated and toddlers equally confused. We all stood, laughing awkwardly, while trying to mentally will our confused children to just bend down and pick up the eggs. As though we've ever had luck with trying to mentally will a two year old to do anything. "Look! Over here! Can you find the egg? Where are they? Oh my goodness! What's behind the slide?" Nothing. Fingers kept being sucked. A few older kids who caught on to the game grabbed the egg in question before our young ones could figure out what's happening. Our kids didn't care- but somehow we did.

It is physically uncomfortable to watch your child NOT pick up the egg in front of them.

Parenting is hard, always. But there are times when we don't recognize just how hard it is. Standing there, watching a child not participate in what should be a very fun time is surprisingly difficult. And when we don't realize it is difficult- when we keep trying to fix it and force the situation instead of standing back and watching the show- we create a mess. As I pleaded with Littlest Lipstick to just pick up the **** egg I had to remind myself that this wasn't about me. I wasn't in charge of organizing her perfect childhood or making sure she finds her fair share of eggs. It's going to be OK if she misses some egg hunts or falls down or we don't get the perfect Easter picture. I can't do all of these things for her. I can't make it happen.

We forget this as parents. We feel responsible for so many aspects of our child's life that it is hard to draw lines between what we can and cannot control. It's easy to criticize the helicopter parents until that moment when you are there yourself, trying to make your child's life perfect. Perfection isn't the goal for childhood. We need to stand back, take a breath, and let it be messy. As uncomfortable and frustrating as it is.



*It should be noted that although she resisted collecting eggs at the hunt later on Easter she overheard me saying  that we were out of eggs- meaning real eggs for cooking. She started yelling, "NOT YOURS MOMMY! MY EGGS!! I FIND! MINE!" like she has royalties on all the eggs that enter our house after rejecting eggs that morning.

Parent Torture and Valentines Day.

 Once again my now experienced parenting self would like to apologize for my child-less teacher self. This time it's for assigning a horrendous project that I had no idea was so painful to complete at home. I assigned it every single year, and often patted myself on the back for all the literacy skills I was able to sneak into the project. Childless Mrs. Lipstick thought that this project was a great, exciting, and organic way to at the very least encourage students to write their name, identify their friends' names, and practice basic literacy skills. At its best it encourage creativity, a chance for parent/child bonding, and problem solving.

I hate Childless Mrs. Lipstick.

My daughter's preschool teacher assigned the same assignment.

Valentines Day cards.
Innocent, no?
Childless me LOVED this assignment. I made a big deal about how the students were supposed to write their OWN names on the cards. I didn't want to see their parents' handwriting. I also sent home baggies of red, white, and pink squares of paper so they could create their own handmade valentines. Look! I'm saving mom and dad from spending money at the store on those cheap cards! No excuse for not sending them in. I had no idea you could buy them at the Dollar Store. Or how long it takes to create 25 valentines cards with a child who is really proud of their first card and now would like to go practice forward rolls or play in the doll house.

I hate childless Mrs. Lipstick.

My daughter's preschool class said nothing about making their own valentines, but I knew there was no way my daughter could write her own name on those tiny store-bought cards, and I also knew that I was not going to stay up late Thursday night writing her name 25 times. I saw absolutely no value in that. I figured she needs to practice writing her name, this is a great way to do it, so we'll just make our own valentines.

With materials we bought from the dollar store (I want to note it would still have to been cheaper to buy one packet of already-made valentines) we set about creating fun heart-based pictures. Most of these were her idea. She discovered you could make a butterfly if you put a pop-sickle stick on top of a heart with a pom pom for a head. I can guarantee you that she regrets that discovery now. That was a great idea if she wanted to make ONE valentine. But we needed 25. So, slave driver mom forced her to keep working. She'd finish one and proudly show me and I'd barely look up. "That's great sweetie, now do another one! We still have 20 to go!"

Once we finally finished and sat back to admire the 25 beautiful cards she still had to write her name on them. Three days. We spent three evenings after school encouraging, cajoling, begging, demanding that she write her name in a legible fashion. She may never write her name again.

The final product is beautiful, and more importantly finished. Just in time for her to take to school, proudly deliver to her friends, and for their parents to throw them in the trash with the rest of the store-made cards. AND I'm not even giving this project the time it takes to figure out how to rotate the pictures on the blog. Because, while I love her beautiful work, her wobbly little butterfly antennas and her random pom pom balls, we're done. Project complete.

Happy Valentines' Day.

Parents everywhere- I am sorry. I will never roll my eyes at store bought cards again.

We Survived the Snow Days!

We are about to go back to school after 7 snow days at home- that's 9 straight days of pajama wearing excitement if you count weekends. What's more, all of this happened right after a three day weekend and a teacher workday, meaning that the students have only gone to school ONE day since January 15th. That seems like a long time ago. This week is going to be rough.

Or maybe not. Maybe the students will have been so bored at home that they are anxious to get back to school. (One can dream, right?)

In the Lipstick household we ended up being out of town for a significant part of the blizzard, which meant we didn't go quite so stir-crazy as the rest of you. We had two different settings to sled, sip hot chocolate, chase each other around like maniacs, and fight over wearing the same PJs for days in a row.

In a moment of brilliance (or, eh, insanity, but those two are so closely linked) right before the snow hit I ordered a blow-up wading pool and balls for a ball pit. We've done this in the past but our previous wading pool had popped and we needed new balls. The new balls were the key to this because they arrived at our door in a massive box. A massive box just begging to become a little house.

My children have played with the ball pit a bit, but spent most of their pajama-clad snow day time inside the box.

Four year old tries to keep one year old in one place...

It's a house! It's an art table!

Windows are obviously for climbing through

I'll just sit here and sip my coffee since both my children are nicely situated inside the box.

The balls. Oh, hello regret. The almost-two-year-old thinks the ball pit is for turning upside down to watch the balls roll across the room. She has no problem cleaning them up, as long as she can immediately throw them on the ground again. I should have just ordered the box.

Family vs Work- TeacherMom Conundrum strikes again

A few weeks ago, when it was still deep in the midst of summer break and actually being in school felt like a world away our administration sent an email with important dates for the first week back. As I studied it my heart sank. Our back to school/meet the teacher/ open house night is on Thursday evening- the same evening as my daughter's fourth birthday.

My daughter has been talking about her fourth birthday since the night of her third birthday. To her birthdays are bigger than Christmas. If you say a month of the year she can tell you who from our family, extended family, or group of friends has a birthday in that month. 

My school, on the other hand, is trying a new back to school night where we combine the meet the teacher evening into the same back to school night that traditionally takes place a few weeks into the school year. The PTO will have food trucks outside and we are all expected to be there from 5-8 to meet parents and children, answer their questions, and present the important information needed for the school year. I've been really excited about the way we were wrapping multiple events into one fun night and had been looking forward to being a part of it to make it a smooth night for both family and staff.

TeacherMom conundrum strikes again.

My amazing administration said it was fine if I left to be with my daughter, which is my current plan. Not being a classroom teacher means that I would really spend the evening helping with crowd-control. She's nervous about starting preschool and I don't know how I would explain to a four year old that I can't be at her birthday. But the guilt is crushing. Everyone else on our staff is going to be working a full 12 hour day- from 8am-8pm. Everyone else is working hard to make the night go smoothly, calm parent fears and get the students excited. I should be there as a part of the team. My daughter will one day forgive me. Or she can add it to the list of things to talk about in therapy when she's older- when once again mommy left her to be with other kids.

There is no winning. Some moments I think that my daughter will understand and it's my professional responsibility to be there. Other moments I think that my family comes first and I'm doing the right thing by going home this evening. Whatever I choose I will feel awful about and will regret not making the other choice. 

The Parenting Side of First Day Jitters

My stomach is tight and I'm having trouble breathing whenever I think about the first day of school next week. I've never quite felt like this about the start of the school year. What if all the kids are horrid and the teachers are mean? What if there isn't time to go to the bathroom or the directions aren't clear?  What if there aren't any friends?

My daughter is getting ready for her first day of preschool. Until now she's been in a lovely in-home daycare with all of her best friends (whose mothers I am good friends with as well). She's been there since she was three months old and I always knew she was in phenomenal hands. My daycare provider spent so much time helping us transition her back when she was just a peanut that I barely had a worry when I dropped her off that first day.

She thinks she's ready for college

Now? Now there seems to be so much more to worry about. It's not just if she'll nap or eat on time, but now I'm worried that she won't make friends or she'll make too many friends and not listen to the teacher. I'm worried she won't get along with the teacher or the teacher won't like her. I'm worried she won't understand the directions and then be so sensitive about being redirected that she'll be scared to ask for help the next time. Or that she won't go to the bathroom, or she will, but not make it to the potty. I'm scared she'll cry the whole first day and they'll just leave her in the corner telling her that they will be there when she's ready to calm down.

In my mind all of the other preschoolers are straight from Mean Girls and the teachers are different versions of the Trunchbull. And I know this is ridiculous because I work with kids and I know they are all wonderful and I know how caring and sweet early childhood teachers are. Still.

For four years I've been able to say I was a parent, and even said things like, "As a parent I know how you feel" to the parents of students I teach. That was a lie I didn't even know I was telling. I thought I understood, but I had no idea.

Every year I've been a part of helping separate the kindergartners from their parents, take them down the hallway and find their classroom. I've been a part of trying to get the parents to leave the school quickly, telling the parent (without realizing how condescending it sounds) "It's harder for you than it is for her."  Maybe it is, but that comment doesn't make it any easier on the parent or the child.

What I didn't understand was that I was walking that parent's heart down the hallway, away from them and their strong instinct to protect their child from danger. I didn't understand that in the parents mind I was taking their baby and throwing her down the hall to the wolves.

I didn't know that the parent just wanted to know that their child was going to be ridiculously loved, challenged, encouraged, and kept safe. As I worry about whether or not my daughter is going to get all four of these elements from her teacher I've got a new appreciation for the parents who will be entering my own school next week with their precious cargo in tow. I hope I can convey the same amount of love and trust to their parents that I want for my child's own school experience.

It’s Back to School Time, Give a TeacherMom a Hug!- Guest Post by KJ Cabacar

This is a guest post from my amazing friend and colleague who rocks at both being a mother and being a teacher.

Dear Workingmom, Stay At Home Mom, CoWorker, Principal, Everyone out there besides us TeacherMoms-

I have seen, heard, and read so many open letters to stay at home moms, working moms, moms in general I can’t keep count.  As I sit here surrounded by school supplies and back to school forms, I can’t help but think there has to be other moms out there like me.  Somewhere there have to be others facing what I am facing and making it through because otherwise what hope do I have? There has to be more of me and like me they have need a hug this time of year too, desperately.

We are the TeacherMoms of the world.  The moms that get up and send their kids to school so that they can stand at a classroom door and happily greet yours.  We are the moms that attend numerous back to school nights and then get up and lead one of our own.  We are the moms that pick up the items on the back to school list times three (one for our own kid, an extra set for the class, and one for our own classroom.)  Yes, we choose to do this to ourselves year in and year out, not because it’s a job but because it’s a passion.  And yet that doesn’t mean it is easy. It doesn’t mean we don’t need someone to look at us and say, "You are doing great! Keep loving those 30 plus kids you are in contact with day in and day out!"

Really, I don’t want your sympathy, because I love what I do, and that’s why I do it.  I love that I get to create leaders, encourage champions, and share moments with the next generation.  I love that my days are filled with fifth grader goofiness, recess, and yes even math with its fractions and long division! And I love that my nights are filled with bedtime stories, two year old grins and five year old secrets. I love my life and my world, but I could still use a hug.

See, when you are a Teachermom, teachers look at you and your child differently.  Since teaching is our profession our child is naturally meant to be a perfect student.  After all, we know what that should look like, so that’s what we should produce.  Our children should automatically be reading before kindergarten, writing short stories before first grade, and solving for X by third grade.  Right?!  One of my coworkers recently did a DRA with my son because she needed to complete one for a summer class.  She explained to her instructor that it was a student going into K and would it be okay.  The instructor replied that most children going into K don’t know enough letters or sounds to get a secure DRA score.  When my friend told her it was a teacher’s child, the response became, "Oh then they’ll be fine and it should work out great!"

Why?

What makes my child so very different? I work very hard not to be a teacher in my son’s eyes.  I want to be his mommy, not the site word flashcard crazy lady!   The pressure can be so high, I actually have a friend that will not, will not allow her children to tell their teacher that their mom is also a teacher.

As September rolls into October and the Facebook feeds get filled with the precious porch pictures with the blackboard signs announcing grade levels, remember to love on a TeacherMom.  We can’t get that photo of our kids because we are busy getting our rooms ready to receive your kids.  When you steal an hour from work to drop in for an author’s party, remember to love on a TeacherMom.  We can’t steal those hours because we are hosting
those parties.  And when you sign on to chaperon a field trip, remember to love on a TeacherMom. We can’t attend those field trips because we are arranging trips for your kids.

 It’s Back to School Time, It’s Hug A TeacherMom Time!

Snow Days and Working Mommy Frustrations

I just survived another snow day. I've lost count of how many we've had this winter, but enough that they are starting to lose their appeal. I love snow days, in theory. A little day off here and there - everything being paused for a moment. Sadly my love of snow days is slowly changing now that I have kids. It's not that I don't value the gift of a surprise day with my children, because I do. It can be chaotic and filled with too many off-key renditions of Let it Go, but still a wonderful day. What has become more and more difficult is that while I'm reading books and building forts I know my colleagues are working. My phone pings with new emails constantly, which I desperately try to ignore. I can't give meaningful replies and make sure my almost one year old doesn't eat the cat food. At 7:45, when both girls were in bed I finally checked my work email. 55 new emails. Many requiring thoughtful responses, which at this point, after a full day of child wrangling, I was not cognitively available to give. The guilt and frustration are there though. I know my colleagues were working hard during the day and I just couldn't do the same amount of work. I couldn't even reply to whether or not I was available for a meeting because that would involve checking my calendar and in the two seconds it would take to do that my little one would have made a run for the stairs. (I swear she knows when I'm not paying attention.) 

Snow days seem to add another layer complication to the working mommy challenges. I don't want to ignore my work emails for 12 hours while I know my colleagues are working hard. Yet I can't ignore my young children to keep up with the work email conversations. Getting to emails at 7:45 at night, hours after everyone else problem solved, volunteered for tasks and made decisions is discouraging. There are no good answers, and I know years from now I'll blissfully wish for these chaotic-filled snow days. 

 

The Freedom to Tinker, Explore, and Problem Solve

Since moving out of our very small town house into a single family home I've found that we have a bit of space in the unfinished part of the basement to dedicate to solely to crafts. My mother had done this for me when I was little and gave me a craft space out of the way of my younger brothers where I could create anything I wanted. I decided to do the same thing for my three year old.

The first and probably most important aspect of our craft area is the tub of trash-turned-treasures waiting to inspire an idea. I throw in paper towel rolls, egg cartons, interesting boxes and anything else that I suspect may inspire creativity. Obviously I don't let it get out of control. If the box is full then it's full- nothing else will be added. It's one tub and is kept out of the way under a shelf. I just toss items in here that would otherwise head for the recycling bin. I also keep other items on hand for her to use such as ribbon, pipe cleaners, paint brushes (she has to ask to use the paints), and glitter pens. She has easy access to all of these so that they can easily inspire a creative idea. Items she needs help with are kept visible to remind her she can use them, such as the button jar, a glue bottle, and  the paints.

 Since we started using this for arts and crafts I've noticed a change in how my daughter approaches projects. The other day I was finishing up an egg carton and she asked me if she could use it to make a train. 

"What do you mean?" I asked, feeling lazy and not wanting to take the carton down to the basement if it wasn't actually going to be used. 

"First I'll cut it here, and here, and here. In half. And then paint it and put it together like a train" she explained. (She doesn't actually know what half is, but it was a nice attempt at using a new vocabulary word.)  Her plan was enough for me. We put it aside and this weekend while her sister was napping we got it back out.

 She carefully dictated to me the exact steps. I (tried) to only do what she said. She gave me exact directions on how she wanted it cut. Then she stared at the pieces of the carton for awhile before deciding how she wanted to decorate them (with pieces of the Frozen ribbon, *sigh*) and then put them together. She needed me for the cutting, putting holes into the egg carton and squeezing the glue out of the bottle, but other than that she worked independently, problem solving and narrating as she went.

As we've done more and more of these projects I've watched her ability to plan a project, organize the steps, orally explain what she wants to do, and problem solve when it does not work flourish. Her art project certainly does not look academic, but the skills she's learning from having the mental and physical space to create are what I want all children I work with to have. More than rote knowledge, the ability to set a goal, develop steps in order to meet that goal, and then to problem solve when needed is what helps us be successful as human beings. There has been so much talk about grit and executive functioning skills in education in the last few years, but not much has changed in schools to help students gain these skills. We may talk about goal setting more than we did before, but we often are not providing students with safe opportunities to practice their skills. There just isn't time. We are too focused on improving the academic skills we can test. Yet these are the skills that make the difference in the achievement gap. Children who have the freedom to explore like this at home at an early age, and those who do not. We have to be able to find a way to give all students a chance to practice these skills so that they can use them with confidence when the stakes are high.

My daughter's train does not look much like a train. Yet she is ridiculously proud of her creation. What more can you ask for?

  

December School Applications: The agony of determining what is best

This December my husband and I are frantically trying to find the perfect school for our daughter for next fall. With school officials constantly reminding us of the importance of getting our applications in early, other parents excitedly talking about where their children will be going in the fall, and the ever looming question "will this school set her on the perfect path for the rest of her life?" we are feeling a bit of stress.

Preschool.

We are looking for the perfect preschool. There is something wrong when I can commiserate with parents of students applying to college and my daughter is only three. I still am unsure why I am looking for preschools in December when my t

hree year old daughter will not start until next September, but no matter. It must be done. Applications are due, spots will fill up, and waiting lists will get longer and longer. December is the time to act.

This has left my husband and I having long conversations about what we want out of a preschool for our daughter and what the true purpose of a preschool is. Unfortunately, the three most important factors in our decision are location, hours, and price. We have to find something that fits into our current commute since we'll also have to manage to take her sister to daycare as well. We also need a full day program since we both work, and we'd like to not spend her college tuition right now. 

I'm quickly finding that the best programs, or at least the ones I'd like to enroll my daughter in- the ones that are the most child center and developmentally appropriate- are half day programs. This is tough because there is no way we can put her in a half day program, but there is a good reason these child centered programs are only half day. Preschoolers probably shouldn't be in a preschool setting for more than half a day. I don't want to hear about the full day of academic learning they are doing because God bless them, they are three and four. They need a few hours a day to run around like banshees in the backyard. But that isn't an option for my daughter.

So that leaves us trying to determine how we want our daughter to spend 8+ hours a day, five days a week when she is four years old. Do we want a play-based program? Montessori? And if we want Montessori, do we want AMS or AMI? (Schools throw these acronyms out with pride, boasting of which one they are, but really I have no idea what the difference is.) Do we want a program that promises our daughter will be reading when she leaves them? (No, we don't) Do we want a program that promises to teach  morals? Social skills? Prepare our child for academic success in her future? All things preschool websites boast they can do.

After some deep conversations we've realized these are what we want in a preschool:

1) We want to send our daughter to a place where she is excited to go everyday. This is setting the groundwork for her school career, and we want her to love it. We want her to love her teachers, and we want them to love her. We know she'll have days she doesn't want to go, but we don't want a situation where she starts to associate school with pressure, whether that pressure is to do well academically or to behave perfectly. That time will come (sadly, in kindergarten, when the crunch is on.)

Box play. Note both children inside. What you don't see is the stack of clothing I was trying to put inside the box before it became a bear den.

2) We are not worried about academics. Maybe it's because I work in kindergarten and so I understand where students are when they enter kindergarten, and how quickly they learn, but I'm not concerned about her learning to read in preschool. I am not worried about her going into kindergarten behind her peers, and if she does enter behind I am not concerned about her ability to catch up. There's time for that.

3) We do want her prepared for the social norms and expectations of kindergarten. I want her to know how to sit on the carpet and listen to a story. I want her to know how to line up, listen to the teacher, follow directions, and share toys. If she can do all of those things when she enters kindergarten then she will be ready to learn the academics she needs.

4) We want her to be a kid while she enjoys her last few years before elementary school starts. Since I am not able to pick her up at noon every day, bring her home for lunch and give her time to have independent exploitative play I want her to have the closest thing to that. I want her to have lots of time for unstructured play, whether inside or outside. Opportunities to pretend a box is a boat, a castle, or an animal den. Opportunities to see what happens when she runs as fast as she can and falls down in the grass. Opportunities to "read" a stack of books to herself and giggle at the pictures without an adult trying to teach her something about the text.

5) I do not want to have to bring my daughter to an interview, and then wait to hear whether or not she's been accepted. She's three. She changes every day. Today she might decide she is Elsa the Snow Queen, tomorrow she is Piglet from Winnie the Pooh yelling that I stepped on her imaginary best friend Christopher Robin. She's silly, outgoing, shy, serious, friendly, stubborn, and reserved on any given day. Sometimes she can dress herself and some days she throws herself on the floor in protest as though picking up one pair of pants would be the death of her. She is three. I don't want to be looking in the mail for an acceptance letter. She has the rest of her life for interviews. Why start now?

Giving a detailed explanation of the randomness of the age appropriate art work. It's beautiful. That's all it has to be.

This list is hard to find. At least it is hard to find in full day programs in the general vicinity of our daily commute. It's hard to predict whether or not she'll love the school. So much will depend on her teacher and the relationship she builds with that teacher. That's something we can't have control of, and that's scary. It's surprisingly hard to figure out which preschools focus on academics. They are all trying to sell themselves to us, and so many of them believe all parents want their children reading before kindergarten. We politely sat and listened to a four year old decode consonant vowel consonant (cvc) words in isolation. With no books around her and just a stack of flash cards she timidly "read" the words. We were supposed to be impressed, but I just felt sad. I don't need my daughter reading words yet. That will come.

All of this leads to the question- if this is what I want for my own kid, what do I want when I think about other people's kids? One of my former co-teachers wrote about this topic earlier this week.  What do we want from preschools? What should we want? What skills do we want our little ones to come to kindergarten prepared with, and what skills should we developmentally expect of them? I usually think it's wonderful when I see students had full day preschool, but I've never stopped to think about what that means before. Were they in an enriching environment where teachers responded to their wonders and excitement, or were they in a high pressured preschool where they were expected to act older than they were?

Yet I'm looking at preschool from two very different perspectives. As a parent I am soley interested in my own daughter. I know her anxieties and her personality. I want to find the school that's right for her. I don't have any judgement about people who put their children in high academic preschools, because when I wear my parent hat I can step back and see that it's their choice and I can make my own choice. When I wear my educator hat I'm thinking more about closing the achievement gap and fighting to get every kid the opportunities they need to succeed in life. Why are those two views end up with contradictory answers?

This also makes me think about the head start programs at all of the schools where I've worked. I would put my daughter into one in a heart beat. In fact, I'd like to slip her in and see if anyone protests. They all seem very play based and child focused. Perhaps because they are not day care centers in disguise, and they are not trying to teach kids to read to please parents paying a high tuition. Why can't I find a preschool like that for my own daughter?

One of my former co-teachers wrote about this topic earlier this week. 

Judge, Judge, and Judge Some More. Is there anything about parenting that doesn't get judged?

This weekend I was waiting for my Starbucks order, chatting happily with my three year old (who, let's admit it, was happy because she was chomping on a large Starbucks pumpkin cookie), when I out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a little girl about to eat popcorn off the floor of Target. Without even thinking (because this is what teachers and moms of toddlers do) I stopped her. "Oh honey, don't eat that!" I exclaimed, and she cried, because that is what kids do when a stranger stops them from doing something they really want to do.

Her mother turned around and gave me a dirty look. Then without saying anything she pushed the cart away from me in a huff.

OK. So we shouldn't talk to kids we don't know. But if it was my daughter (and next time it probably will be my daughter) and I didn't see it (because even the best parent can't watch their child 100% of the time) I would want a stranger to stop her from eating off the floor at Target. Her being momentarily upset that a stranger had talked to her is better than her eating off the floor. And even better, it will (hopefully) stop her from eating off the floor from Target in the future.

At first I was put off by the other mom's dirty look. I was only trying to help. Then I realized she probably felt like I was judging her as a parent. I wasn't. It was the opposite. She had three kids with her- good grief, I know how hard it is to shop with two kids- I can't imagine with three. My thought was not, "OMG, this women is a terrible mother. Her daughter is about to eat off the floor." I thought, "Oops, that little girl is about to eat off the floor. Better stop her because her mom looks busy."

But there is no way that mom would know that. We live in a culture of judgement, especially when it comes to parenting. I'm a member of a couple on-line parenting groups, and I am frequently horrified by the amount of judging that goes on. Off statements like, "I would never..." "If my child ever did something like that..." "It may be hard, but it's my kid so I'm going to do...." are constantly coming out. They are easy statements to think and even easier to type. The internet has given a platform to our judginess. We read so much judgement out there that it's easy to think that we are fighting each other every day. A trip to Target should not be a chance to showcase our parenting for the entire world, as we desperately hold our breath hoping that today our child will not have a meltdown because then everyone would know what terrible parents we really are.

The older my daughter gets the more acutely aware of how much I unfairly judged parents of students I taught. It was especially bad when she was an infant because just being a new parent gave me the license to say, "As a parent I would..."

Ha! I had a baby who could not talk back, throw a tantrum, hit, kick, or blow snot all over me on purpose.

As my very independent, strong-willed and sensitive daughter gets older I am realizing just how hard parenting can be and just how wrong my misconceptions of parenting have been. My next few posts are going to be a series of the myths of childhood that we use to judge one another. Stay tuned...

Best Parenting Book Yet

The day I left for maternity leave the third graders I work with gave me the best parenting advice book I've ever received. Each third grader filled out a page themselves, predicting the baby's birth date, weight, (which reflected some CRAZY understanding of weight...  I was not carrying a 30 pound baby in case any third graders are wondering...), a list of suggested names and then parenting advice for me and Mr. Lipstick as well as big sister advice for Little Lipstick, and one hope for the baby.

Best. Advice. Ever.

 "When your baby cry's a long time it means they are really hungry and wants milk, or needs to be changed."

Big sister advice: "When you carry her in your lap remember to hold her neck on both sides so when she grows up her neck will be normal."

 I need to know more. There is a story there about a parenting warning, an infant's neck, and a big sister.

Advice to us: "Feed stuff healthy"  Yes, yes, we will try.

Big sister advice: "Learn how to change her diaper".  Yes, please. 

Advice to us: "Make sure she does not put her hands in a power socket".  Excellent advice. 

 You know many of these have to come with a back story. "Hide your expensive stuff" either comes from a parent's warning or a very disappointing moment as an older sibling. These third graders have been around the block. They know what it's like to be the older one. I just wish I was there when they'd written these so I could dig deeper into what exactly happened in their lives to make them feel that this is the most important advice they need to give my daughter.

When she cries she needs food or a diaper change, feed her healthy food, no hands in the electric socket. I think they covered all the parenting basics.

This kid knows babies.