The twins are almost two and last night during my writing circle this is the story that came to me. I hope that I have written enough about them to make it clear to them that they are and were loved. I often feel guilty because I have not followed their every movement and change the way I did with Kyan and recorded it and bound it and sealed it in a time capsule of love...I hope I remember the most important things, but before I forget I will do my best to write about them!

 Each Enough

He was like a puckered old man; the redness of his face advertising discontent, the bulge of his eyes begging answers, his cry shrill and harsh under the fluorescent lights of the operating room. They placed him in the crook of my right arm and I glanced at him quickly before turning back to the round little cherub with the whittled dimples and shock of dark hair who lay in the crook of my left arm. I turned back and forth from one to the other, feeling more anxious with every turn of my head. I finally began to cry, not the tears of happiness you would expect, though I was indeed happy, but tears of frustration and confusion. I had just spent fifteen minutes bonding with the cherub while pushing out the little old man, who came feet first as if he were already running, and now here I was holding both of my little men and I didn’t know who to look at first. The little old man just kept crying and I wanted to reach out to him, to smooth his wrinkled forehead, to give him a finger, or better yet a breast, to soothe him, but my arms were so full.

On the other side the cherub wriggled, trying to catch my attention again so that I would do some more of that long staring and smooth stroking that had graced the first fifteen minutes of his already blissful life, that is until the screaming old man had come along. I realized for just a moment that he was already learning how things would be, he was already coping with sibling rivalry, but I pushed the thought aside because it was too much to handle in that moment. Instead of gazing in his eyes, I began to cry and my chest heaved and my arms began to ache and the staff of nurses and doctors just danced their post delivery dance around me. At some point I felt the doctor deliver one, then two placentas, and still my arms ached and my heart felt full to bursting.

The old man quieted down and the cherub was taken by his Daddy to find a new window into bliss. I looked into the bulging, questioning eyes of this little old man and I knew him then: he was the trickster that did yoga poses in my womb, the acrobat who moved my sternum up and out more and more each day he lived inside of me, the boy who tickled my ribs with his bobbing head and kicked his brother with his happy feet. There was a fullness of being in him even then, even in utero when so much was yet unknown. He seemed pleased to have displaced the little cherub from my arms and he almost smiled at me then; a smile that said then, as it does still, I know I am loved no matter what I do. I held him tightly and felt the fear slip away, the fear of that moment when I held two and felt that I only knew one. The moment had finally come, the moment that I had worried and agonized over for months while lying inert on my left side watching eight tiny limbs dance circles around my humongous belly. What fear can be greater than the fear that I will not be enough…not enough mother, not enough love, not enough strength, not enough guts…the fear that two will weigh so much more than one.

Finally, they are both together again, bathed and nursed, silent and still, lying on a pillow that circles my still round and mountainous belly. Their heads nestle close to one another, their tiny hands twitch and I think of the movements that are now before me, but were once within me, and again I cry…I cry this time because my arms are strong, my heart is full, and we are, each one of us, enough.

the old man

the cherub

Bliss, Guilt, and Weaving

I did it again...I took time away from the family for my own relaxation and renewal! It was fabulous, but also punctuated here and there with feelings of guilt...Leaving my poor sweet friend with my three terrors as well as her own two kids for five hours, only to hear (in a text that didn't reach me until after I regained cell service on the way home) that Kyan had been playing with knives in the kitchen and scared the bejesus out of her. Then there was this nagging feeling that maybe the reason Kyan has been acting out lately is the recent increase of time I am taking for myself...to which my dear friend (who was joining me for said relaxation and renewal) promptly replied that I was being ludicrous...I hope she's right.

The bottom line is that parenting is hard and we need to take space now and then. I hate to say it for fear of offending working parents everywhere (keep in mind that I once was one!), but that time away from home when other parents go to work is a blessing that sometimes goes unrecognized. I have mornings where I seriously want to run after Ben's car as it pulls out of the driveway and scream, "TAKE ME WITH YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!" It's not that I don't love being home with the boys, trust me, I thank the stars everyday that I am not juggling teaching full time with mothering three boys. The problem is that if I don't take time away from them then I don't cherish my time with them nearly as much. I don't "get off of work" at any point during the day (or the night for that matter), so I need to take some scheduled mental health breaks!

So I set the intention to take some space for myself...I am taking a writing workshop that meets each week and doing a few other day long workshops. I have a book club that meets once a month and actually talks about the book we read (there may also be wine involved). I took two days and nights to go back to Breitenbush and sit around in hot water all day and eat amazing vegetarian food. I even went out one night not long ago to see my beautiful friend sing...It was crazy to be "out" again and of course I stayed out a bit too late and had to pay for it in the world of motherdom the next day, but it was worth it!

I truly believe that taking this time to myself brings me clarity and I am much more grounded in my ability to mother my children...well, at least to mother them well. It is much easier to take this time now that I am home with them everyday. I know that when I was working I felt nothing but guilt when I did things for myself, so I just stopped doing them. Sometimes I want to laugh when I look back at those days and remember how difficult I thought it all was...but, it was...I guess difficult is what difficult is when you are in that moment. Right now I have reached difficult on a whole new level.

Twins are hard. I guess most people wouldn't dispute that fact, so I won't bother defending myself with a paragraph long dissertation about why twins are hard, but I feel the need to acknowledge that they Are. Really. Hard.  They are also amazing. I suppose that is the guilty critic in my head that is apologizing for admitting that I am not a supermom who flies through my days wondering how other people can complain about the difficulty of raising children...I wish I was that mom, but I'm not. They are amazing...AND...amazingly hard.

So, I spent some time soaking and talking and soaking and eating and talking and soaking and talking and eating and sleeping and eating and soaking...and, it was fabulous. I experienced that strange reality where people see me as myself rather than the frenzied mother chasing her three children around various places. It was neat, but it also felt a bit wrong. I felt like I was telling people about my boys whenever I got the chance because then there were people there who could actually see me as who I really am. I am me...that person in and of myself...but, within that person is that frenzied mother and she cannot truly be separated from myself. I suppose that's the point, isn't it? No matter what we do or where we are we will always be both of those people. We cannot go back to a time when we were not mothers and BE that person again. There is a cord that binds us tightly to our mothering self and no matter how far away we may attempt to stray, it will hold us tight. That is easier for me to envision; what's difficult for me to envision is that the opposite is true as well: That self, the one before the kids that we see as just us without the mother self, that self is always there, too. We are also bound to that person and that person is bound to us. Writing reminds me of that. When I write I hear her voice, I feel her pain and her joy, I become her and I weave her in and out of my mothering self.

This is where I think I am going with the intentions I have set for myself. I am attempting to tighten that weave so that I can feel the entirety of myself in everything that I do. If I can weave a big beautiful blanket then perhaps I can hold it tight around myself when I begin to lose my way...

Time Out of Mind

Where has the time gone?

Well, it certainly hasn't been directed at my blog, I'll tell you that much. It is something of a mystery to me that I can look at something I enjoy doing so much (writing) as a chore and ignore it for months on end. I tried to determine what it is that makes me do this and the best I can come up with is that I am so exhausted by being a mother that in the moments of free time that I find myself with throughout the day my only desire is to do things that do not require thinking AT ALL.

Coming to this particular conclusion made me realize something else: the twins are going to be two in 3 short months and I am STILL stuck in survival mode. You know how people tell you that the first year is the hardest and they promise you'll get to sleep through the night eventually...? Yeah, well, Kyan taught me that the first year thing is a myth, but the twins have taken it to a new level:
We still do not sleep through the night. We have one child in bed with us for a minimum of two, but average of 5, hours a night. Our pediatrician actually told me that our family probably accounted for 10% of their business this winter. Ben and I sometimes forget to say hello to one another and don't realize it until the kids are in bed and we walk out of Kyan's room. In fact, Ben and I went on our first overnight date, since the twins were born, a couple of weeks ago. We had a great time, but on Sunday morning after waking up at 8 am (which felt unnaturally late to us) we weren't sure what to do with ourselves. We eventually found ourselves walking around downtown Portland with coffee in hand at 11 am and expressing how boring life is without kids. Ben finally said, "let's just go home. I kind of miss them."

I suppose this also illustrates how much we love our kids. They are so fun and crazy. Our house is a VERY loud, but never boring place to be. Kyan is growing into an incredibly hilarious little man. The other day at Costco he wanted to get another sample of something and I told him that the polite thing to do was to only take one. He REALLY wanted another one, so I told him he could ask the woman if it was okay. He walked up to her while I pretended not to be watching, but he couldn't spit it out. He finally came back to me and I realized that his shirt was backwards. I asked him why and he said, "I turned it around so she wouldn't recognize me." SERIOUSLY?! I was quite amused by his cleverness, though the woman giving out the samples seemed to think it was a tad bit naughty. Oh well...at least he's a clever naughty boy!

So from what I understand of parenthood so far it is a stunning combination of love, excitement, frustration, desperation, and futility. There is absolutely nothing like it in the world...although I did read a very good blog post comparing it to climbing Mt. Everest...It seems to me that, just as in life, we feel completely misunderstood by anyone who is not living the same reality that we are right this moment as parents. I had a woman tell me today that she thinks her situation is harder because her daughters are only a year apart and she thinks twins would be easier. Case in point. Any of my twin friends would understand how wrong it is to say that to a mother of twins.

I love being a mother. I love being a family. I am also learning to truly love and appreciate the moments that I take for myself outside of these things. Though, when I do take this time I feel sort of out of place in the normal kid-free world. I kind of want a sign on my chest that says "mother of three. taking a break.", so that I might attract others who are more like me. It's strange. Someday I am going to look back on this time and I am going to miss it terribly, yet I constantly dream of a time when all three of my boys will be more independent. Yet another lesson of motherhood...love it while you've got it. I think I'll focus on that one this week...

Give Me a Break!

This past weekend I spent a luxurious 48+ hours on a retreat with three of my closest friends. I promised myself months ago that I would take myself to Breitenbush Hot Springs (alone if need be) to celebrate weaning the twins. I expected it to be in Fall and I gave myself a decent amount of time to accomplish my goal.

It wasn't easy. Can you imagine how hard it is to say, "no" to these two?

I went about weaning in a very gentle way...basically, I let them decide, but I encouraged them a bit and dropped feedings when they didn't seem to need them (even emotionally). So, I had to say no occasionally, but not much.

The amazing thing about the combination of weaning the boys and allowing myself a personal retreat is that I felt like all of a sudden I got myself back in every way. Physically, I can eat what I want, take cold medicine if need be, have as much coffee as I want, drink 2 glasses of wine without feeling guilty, and certain parts of my body have returned to normal size. What I didn't realize until I went away for the weekend is how much of myself I was suppressing mentally, as well.

The thing about motherhood is that it's really, really hard, but we do it because there is no alternative. We don't eliminate the children's needs because then what kind of mother would we be? Instead we eliminate our own needs. We push our desires, our interests, even our health into a corner and say we'll get to it when we have the time, but we never really have the time. Being away was sort of like waking up. There were so many parts of me that I was pushing aside in order to be a better mother, or so I thought. What I realized was that I can be a better mother if I allow myself to breathe and celebrate who I am occasionally.  The entire thing felt so foreign at first, suddenly I remembered what it felt like to just sit and read a book or drink a cup of coffee in the sunshine, and not worry about what comes next or who needs what. It was so beautiful and so renewing!

sitting by the river in an adirondack chair reading a book!

There were so many wonderful moments during the weekend, but for some reason I keep coming back to the first morning when my friend Patty, who also has three children, and I sat on the porch of the lodge in the sunshine drinking coffee. We sat there for at least an hour drinking and talking and when we were done we couldn't help but remark, somewhat jokingly, about how frivolous it seemed to have spent so much time just sitting there. We couldn't quite wrap our brains around it yet because we hadn't been there for long yet, but that time we took to ourselves was something we NEVER have time for in our everyday lives.

When I first visited Breitenbush I went with Ben for our wedding anniversary. Kyan was 2 years old and we had never left him overnight before. I was REALLY nervous about it, but I really wanted the time with Ben, too. One of the wonderful and complicated things about Breitenbush is that there is no cell reception or public phone or internet. I had no way of contacting home to make sure Kyan was okay. I had a great time, but there was a constant nagging in my gut because I couldn't totally release my anxiety about leaving him. When Sunday morning hit I was ready to go immediately and Ben had to reign me in and get me to relax for a bit longer. Here's a picture from that first trip:

This picture is one of the pictures from that trip that I go to when I feel like I'm letting myself slip away too much...it just feels like a picture that is SO very "me".

June 2009

Here's the cute little 2 year old Kyan that we left behind for our anniversary trip:

During this recent trip I felt very mild anxiety about leaving the three boys, but it totally faded by the end of the weekend. Maybe it was something about not being a first time mom, or maybe it was the fact that I needed the break so desperately that my mind knew better than to punish me with anxiety. Either way, I was pretty darn relaxed and I could have stayed another couple of days without getting too anxious!

September 2011

I found the time to be the "me" that I longed for when I look back at that picture because I gave myself the permission I needed to relax and renew. I think I gave myself a wonderful gift, and my husband also contributed to the gift by taking care of all three boys on his own for the first time ever (well, for a prolonged period of time, that is) without a single grumble.

I am so thankful for the moments that I was granted and I know that it will keep me stronger as I struggle, laugh, and celebrate with my beautiful family.

Today was one of those days when one questions one's right, and possibly one's choice, to be a mother.

I suppose the day started at 1:30 am when Ronan awoke screaming:
He is briefly mollified with a pacifier and blanket, but the screaming returns about 10 minutes later (you know, just long enough to begin to drift back to sleep thinking you've dodged a bullet).

When further attempts to calm him IN the crib become futile, Ben gets him out and begins walking around the house with him. It is clear that something hurts because he cries no matter what we do. Eventually Ben gets him some ibuprofen and I take him to bed with us. Where he cries, and fusses, and rolls, and laughs, and crawls, and stands on my chest...you get the picture. Finally, fed up with that I take him out to the living room and attempt to calm him. I get out a bottle of milk (something he has recently been indulging in before bed since the nursing has stopped...what crazy person introduces the bottle at 15 months, you say? why me, of course!), and he drinks the entire thing.

Great. He was just hungry. Now he'll sleep, right? NOPE! More screaming. Oh, have I mentioned that by this time Mason is in bed with Ben because he has been woken up by the screaming several times and managed to go back to sleep a few of the times but is finally fed up.
Screaming continues. Ben, taking one for the team, passes Mason to me and gets up and gets dressed. He takes Ronan into the playroom and stays there with him until 5 am. Awake. Yes. 5 am. How nice that I got to stay in bed, right? Uh, yeah.

Well, by this time Mason is wide awake since Ben and I have been arguing over his head about what to do with Ronan. He takes up Ronan's fuss, roll, and crawl routine and keeps it up for about and hour or so. Finally, he falls asleep...within about a half hour Ben comes back to bed...then we all sleep for an hour...then Kyan wakes up. Of course, right?

6 am we have most of the family in the bed and I am trying to keep Kyan quiet and still enough to keep from waking Mason. No such luck. Up we go.

After rising I have to do my morning weigh in for my diet game that I'm playing. Wouldn't you know it, I didn't make weight for the week. OF COURSE I DIDN'T! That would mean something GOOD was happening. So, the final conclusion of my night of HELL is that I will not be drinking wine for two solid weeks (if we don't make weight we can't drink for the remainder of the game). Fabulous.

The rest of the morning basically consists of Ronan and Mason taking it in turns to shriek and sob while clinging to some part of my body. Only with Ronan the shrieking never stops. No matter what I do.
So, I put them down for nap a tad bit early and Mason goes right to sleep while Ronan (you guessed it) shrieks. When he finally goes to sleep (maybe 10 minutes of shrieking) he sleeps for approximately 30 minutes. SERIOUSLY?? Then wakes up...shrieking! I pick him up, I cuddle him, I offer him food and drink, I sit, I stand, I dance, I sing....nothing works. The shrieking continues.

Finally, it seems wise to call the doctor. I think maybe he has an ear infection as many of his crazy night fits have been associated with that in the past. The only appointment available is at 2:40; the twins' second nap is at 2 pm. Of course.

So, I decide they should be quite tired and try to put them down at 12:30 so they can nap before the appointment. A new level of shrieking commences. So, I give that one up and throw them all in the car. I have no idea where I'm going, but I know I cannot stay in the house listening to the shrieking for one minute longer!

As we begin to drive I realize that both Kyan and I need to eat. So, I get the bright idea to go to New Seasons. Kyan loves to eat there. Things seem to be going fine until I actually begin to consume my food...at which point (can you guess?) SHRIEKING!

Now, the thing about the twins is that they are really good babies...really. If they get fussy I just have to change the scenery and they are pretty much content. SO not the case today. So, I try juggling various distractions in the form of food, silverware, napkins, etc. while simultaneously shoving my food into my mouth and trying to get Kyan to sit still and eat.

As I get up to throw things away and clean up our mess the twins are pretty fussy and a bit loud, but it's not like we're in a 5 star restaurant or anything, it's not a quiet place. Still, I get these looks from people that clearly say, "we are judging you for the behavior of your bratty boys." I also get a sense of, "what's wrong with you? Do you know what birth control is?" in several of the glances.

By the time I leave I am almost ready to cry, but I don't. I get them in the car and strapped in and begin the drive to the doctor's office. In an attempt to keep the twins awake (ironic, isn't it?) I start to act silly and laugh with them and I realize that I really do like them better when they are all strapped into their car seats looking at me adoringly.

When we get to the doctor's office I open the van door and realize that Kyan is beginning to drift off. COME ON, KID!! He hasn't napped since last week and I wasn't even working on keeping him awake! So, I put him in one side of the double stroller with the seat down and he is instantly asleep. OK. I strap Mason on my back, since the appointment is for Ronan, so in theory Mason can stay there through the entire event, put Ronan in the other side of the stroller, and off we go.

We get in there and Ronan is the happiest child I have ever seen. They are looking at me like I have a screw loose when I explain why we've come. They check him out and, sure enough, nothing wrong. Maybe a tooth coming in, maybe, but I think that was just an attempt to make me feel better. BUT, "while you're here, why don't you get those next two vaccinations taken care of (since you are so far behind because of your 'alternate schedule' and we are afraid you're going to destroy the human race with your rebellion)." Uh, ok.

It is DEFINITELY a great idea to add two sore spots, a possible fever, and an increased chance of fussiness to our already boiling over pot. WHY THE HELL NOT! Let's do it.

Of course, Kyan wakes up right before the torture session. He is not particularly happy to wake up in a stroller in the doctor's office. The twins are naked now and running, climbing, grabbing, and pushing everything in sight. It takes the nurse a good 10-12 minutes to return with the shots (OF COURSE IT DOES!).

We get the shots done, children are screaming, I only half dress them, strap them into the stroller and onto my back and set off into the waiting room full of people who also would like to inform me that, "I've got my hands full." Thank you. Very astute observation. Do you want one?

We get in the car and I'm SURE the twins will fall right to sleep, I mean they have to, right? NOPE. Ronan shrieks like a banshee for a good 5 solid minutes which sets Kyan off because he's out of sorts and, I have to admit, it does REALLY hurt one's ears to listen to, and Kyan is right next to him.

I have to pee really badly at this point (because I am consuming 3 liters of water a day for this silly diet game I'm doing), but I sure as hell wasn't going to attempt to go into a bathroom with the entire screaming crew. So, my new dilemma is whether or not to drive until they are asleep or to get home as fast as possible so that I can pee and give poor Kyan a reprieve from Ronan's shrieks. As I see Ronan's eyelids begin to flutter between shrieks I decide to keep going. Finally, he falls asleep. Mason does not, but I'm counting on him to lay down in the crib without any issues once we get home. BIG mistake there!

We get home and I take Ronan to his crib where he commences loud, stuffy snoring (oh, NOW I notice that he's stuffed up), but when I try to put Mason in he screams and throws himself all over the crib. Kyan is in the hallway trying to get me to put the TV on for him because I have mistakenly agreed to let him watch so that I can possibly have a few minutes of downtime once I get the twins to sleep. It takes me a good 10 minutes of cooing and rocking to calm Mason and he goes to sleep. I put TV on for Kyan, go into the kitchen and begin preparations for dinner. That lasts all of 3 minutes before I hear Ronan. Really? REALLY?

So, I bring a shrieking Ronan out of his room and he, again, continues to shriek. I get him some ibuprofen for whatever pain is turning him into this monster and I try to finish preparing the roasts that I have to get in the oven to cook because they will take over an hour. He will not let me set him down, but I can't do it holding him, so I set him on the counter and give him some cooking utensils to play with. He continues to shriek while I prepare. I realize I have reached an all time low. I am just about ready to put him in the oven.

Finally, the roast is in and I take him into the playroom with Kyan. He continues to shriek so I give him my phone and the remote control (minus batteries) and this distracts him enough to stop the shrieking. Finally, a bit of quiet. Then Mason wakes up. He won't stop crying. I realize he is stuffy. Oh dear lord.

When Ben gets home I am sitting at the table shoveling food into my mouth while both babies are trying to climb up onto me while shrieking and sobbing. I attempted to feed them and they threw the food AT ME. Here are Ben's pictures of my attempt to sit on the couch and relax for a minute after I ate:

The look on my face is complete disbelief that the shrieking banshee is smiling SO sweetly for the camera!

Finally, I take my leave and go for a 20 minute bike ride in order to decompress. It helps. I come back able to help put the twins to bed without screaming. And, now that I have cleansed myself of the day by laying it all out here, I am off to bed to prepare for what promises to be another great night!

Mothers Who Shop

Ben made a comment the other day when we were going to shop for Kyan’s school backpack. Kyan asked why we were going to Pottery Barn Kids and Ben said, “Because, Kyan, that’s where Mommies who want to compete with one another go.” I got really mad, but the truth is I got mad because the truth hurts.

There is this part of me that totally competes with other moms. It’s like a little voice in my head saying, “are you going to let them ‘look’ like a better mother than you?”  or “if you don’t get him the cute and expensive version then everyone will think (know) that you don’t have a lot of money.” 

This is the sad reality and yet I’m a very open person. I don’t lie about the fact that we don’t own our house or have a lot of money to buy things, I don’t even hide it.  

So what is it with this competition that we mothers insist on engaging in? I see the ridiculousness of it in my mind’s eye and yet I continue to make choices that are based on my insecurities and my need to “prove” something to other people. I’m not sure how I got here.

Yesterday Kyan was making up a song while playing the guitar and I was sitting out in the living room just listening. In one part of the song he sang (approximate version) “I love my mother because I love her a lot and she loves me…she loves me so much because she gives me something special because she loves me so much…” Listening to that I had mixed emotions, obviously Kyan knows he is loved, but he equates receiving a gift or something special with love. That isn’t right. Seriously. This kid has no idea what it is like to want something REALLY badly and not receive it. Everything he has ever really wanted he has eventually gotten. It’s hard, as a parent, and hard for his grandparents, too, not to buy him the things he wants because he just seems so genuinely happy when he receives them and it feels so good to make him so happy. The issue is that he is beginning to equate this with love. Love should be so much more than the giving and receiving of material objects. 

I remember as a kid wanting a Cabbage Patch doll so badly that it’s all I could think of. My parents kept deferring to Santa Clause and Christmas as the chance to get it, but they didn’t promise anything. They didn’t have a lot of money and I knew that so I thought maybe if I told Santa over and over again he would bring my Cabbage Patch Kid. On Christmas morning I opened all of my presents and there was no Cabbage Patch. I tried really hard to be okay, but I think I might have started to cry when my parents told me that was it. Then they sprung the surprise that there was one more hidden present…of course it was my Cabbage Patch. The reality was I knew, for the most part, at that point that my parents were Santa and that they had a hard time affording Christmas, so that’s why I tried to be okay when it wasn’t there at first, because I knew it was a hard thing for them to afford. I understood the sacrifice they were making to some degree and I knew that I couldn’t have everything I wanted. I carried that doll with me everywhere for a long time. It was even saved for years, it may still be around. 

she looked JUST like this!

I thought that Kyan’s obsession with Buzz Lightyear a couple of Christmases ago was akin to my obsession with that Cabbage Patch kid, so I knew I had to get it. The difference is that I got him Buzz, and Woody, and Rex the dinosaur…amid a myriad of other things that totally overwhelmed him to the point that he actually stopped opening presents and said he was done. He never questioned for one second that he would get Buzz and wasn’t even surprised to have the entourage of characters appear, too.
I overdid it that year and I tried not to do that this past year, but it’s hard. I tell myself that, on one hand, the boys having fun toys makes my life easier because they are entertained. True, in part, but absolutely not the entire story. Yesterday Ronan and Mason entertained themselves for more than a half an hour by taking all of the pans out of the cupboard and carrying them to various places in the house and then setting them on the floor and stepping in and out of them. Kyan spends more time being entertained by sticks than he ever does with his $30 light saber. So, who am I buying all of this stuff for? Is it for me? So that when we have play dates everyone can see how much we have and how lucky my boys are? Maybe in some part, I don’t think that’s the whole story either, though. 

I want my boys to appreciate what they have and to feel what it is like to want something they can’t have. How can I achieve this when I along with their 4 loving grandparents like to get them everything they show interest in? I can’t tell everyone to stop buying presents. I can’t turn Christmas morning into a “give your toys to needy children” event and let them go without. There are little things that people do, like have kids donate to a toy drive etc, but I don’t think that’s going to get the real message across, it just makes us parents who have abundance feel like we’re at least making an effort to teach our children about those who don’t. I have no idea how to achieve it, but I truly want Kyan to want something and to be unsure he will get it. 

I suppose I can start by not competing with other mothers to have the cuter backpack or lunch sack or shoes for the kids, etc. I can stop allowing myself to judge my worth and status as a mother by how my children and their possessions appear to others. It’s a start. I don’t have any idea how successful I will be in my endeavor because the reality is that the need to compete comes from deep seeded insecurities about how others see and judge me. I know that my worth as a mother has nothing to do with those things, but I have to convince myself that others know that, too. Of course those people that I care about most and are true friends don’t judge me that way, but unfortunately I care what everyone thinks, not just those friends. I suppose I can begin with a different kind of Christmas, one where I don’t go into debt in order to overwhelm my children with the abundance that I can provide for them. It’s a start, and maybe next time we’ll look for a new backpack at Goodwill instead!

Foundations

Yesterday was Kyan's first day of preschool.

Since he once went to preschool full time (when I was working) I suppose it isn't a real "first", but somehow it felt that way. His new school is a cooperative preschool, meaning that I, as a parent, have a lot of work to do within the school. I work in his classroom once or twice a month as a parent teacher, and I have a formal "job" to do throughout the year.

Kyan will only be in school for 2 1/2 hours a day three days a week, so it's not a huge chunk of time, but somehow this has kick started my mama grief because it seems like he's so much closer to kindergarten, which is so much closer to elementary school, which is so much closer to middle school...you can see where I'm going with this.

Walking through the mall with the family the other day I was looking at teenage boys, I always do this, and trying to imagine our boys as teenagers. I turned to Ben and asked him if he ever does this and he looked at me like I was a bit crazy and said, "No." Well, maybe I am crazy, but I try to imagine what it will feel like to have three grown boys who are itching for independence from their parents and who are forming identities that we, as parents, will have little control over. One of the things that stood out in the child psychology class that I had to take to get my masters degree in teaching was the fact that a very large part of a child's identity is formed outside the home. There were numbers attached to this that showed how much time a child spends outside the home (mainly in school) and how big an influence their peers have on them vs. how much influence parents have on them. For some reason I have never been able to forget that. Maybe it's the control freak in me that can't believe I will have so little control over these boys that I gave birth to.

I guess this is why I am so concerned about the schools that I will send my children to. I have worked in a lot of different school settings. I have taught at a daycare style school that had a teaching philosophy, but was set up for full time working parents. I have taught at a cooperative alternative school run entirely by the parents on a governing board. I have worked in a public elementary school, and of course taught in a public high school. I have developed some very strong feelings through all of these experiences and now that my first child is nearing the age where he will begin to go to school "for real" I am faced with some huge decisions.

Ben and I have had a goal for the last couple of years. Our plan is to move back to the coast so that Kyan can go to the cooperative alternative school that I taught at years ago. I have a lot of reasons behind my desire to send Kyan, and eventually the twins, there, but the most important one is that I want the foundation of their education to be a love of learning. There are amazing teachers in public schools that do give their students this foundation, but they are not all amazing and even the amazing ones are hampered by the system they are a part of and the curriculums that they are required to stick to.

I'm not worried about Kyan learning the basics, I know that he will learn them whether at home or at school, what I'm worried about is that my boys learn about community, about loyalty, about kindness, about nature, and about their place in the world they live in. I want them to think of school as an extension of home; a place they feel comfortable in and responsible for. I don't think that happens in a public school. I don't blame those who run the public schools for the lack of these things, because often they are working hard to create them, but the public education model itself is severely lacking. There was a time I thought I would one day fight to change this model and help to save public education...then I became a public school teacher. The need for change is huge and I saw that even more once I was teaching everyday, but it is so huge that it is overwhelming. I don't have answers. I don't know if anyone really does. It is such a grandiose problem that there is not one answer. The problem is, I don't want to sacrifice my children's foundation to a system that I don't believe in.

When Ben and I discuss this he always brings up the argument that the public education system is a representation of our society and that our boys, like it or not, will one day have to function within that society. Point taken. I am entirely willing to expose them to the inherent flaws of the society in which they will live but only once they have a solid foundation for dealing with those flaws. I want them to have a real childhood. I want them to get dirty and messy while learning about science. I want them to run in the woods and build forts during recess. I want them to love and respect their peers because the community they are a part of values that. I want them to think about their classroom as their home and take care of it as such.

Maybe I have too clear a picture of my goal for the boys because I taught in the school where I want them to end up. All I know is that I will fight to the death for them to have a solid foundation. I don't think they will end up as horrible people if I send them to a public school. In fact, I'm sure that, as parents, Ben and I could give them a solid foundation no matter where they go to school, but if I can provide them with an environment that will nurture that foundation rather than counter it then I am going to fight like hell to do it.

One day I will watch each of my boys cross the stage at their high school graduation and I know I will be filled with pride. I know also that what they become and who they will be is entirely up to them once they reach that precipice. I just hope that the decisions I have made up until that point will lead them in the right direction. I suppose that's all I can do...I can give them roots so that they can lift their wings and fly...