When I got the call to substitute teach a kindergarten class, I was eager to accept. What better place to start than with the littlest kids in the school? I thought. I'm pretty sure I can take any kindergartner and at that age, they don't even know about spitballs.
But that was before I ended up being in lock down - a code gray with a class full of 5 and 6-year-olds for 20 minutes.
It turns out that not only was this my first day ever substitute teaching but it was also the day the school would practice "code gray": their procedure for what to do if something unthinkable happens and someone comes into the school with an AK47. I applaud this idea of preparing students, truly I do. We think it can't happen here but that's what everybody thinks until it does. But applauding it and carrying it out with two little kids are two different things.
The principal asked a first grade teacher to put the kids through the procedure, seeing as I was a newbie. The first grade teacher started out well. She told the kids that we would have something like a fire drill and that we would practice what to do if there was an emergency. "Say there's a dog in the school," she said. "A mean dog or a nice dog?" one little boy asked. "A mean dog," she replied," and the dog is loose. We have to practice what to do." Then she had the kids practice "squishing" themselves on one side of the room to get ready for our drill.
Well, the rest of the day the kids wanted to know where the dog was and when it was coming. They said that they didn't see the dog but they wanted to see it. They wanted to know when we were going to have a dog drill.
Finally, I sat them down with another teacher to try again. "There's no dog," I told them. They looked up at me, bewildered. "There's no dog. It's just pretend. Just like when you have a fire drill. Do you see a fire in the halls?" They shook their heads. "We're pretending to get ready for an emergency like a dog in the hallways but the dog was pretend. There's no dog."
We waited and waited for the drill and finally the announcement came and we herded about 15 small children into a small area to wait. "Why are we doing this?" one of the boys whispered. "I don't understand why we're doing this for a dog," another boy said softly. "I think I see a dog," another boy said. Troublemaker. "You don't see a dog," I whispered back. "There's no dog. It's pretend."
Twenty minutes later the children were fidgeting, lying on the floor and trying to climb into the cabinets. There was giggling and poking, all the things you would expect from a bunch of kindergartners trying to sit still. Finally, the announcement came that the code was over.
"Where was the dog? We never saw the dog!" said another little girl in a pink dress. Groan.
Maybe we can have a full out evacuation on my second day. It has to be an improvement.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The Case of the Missing Uniform
I could hear that my son was in distress from the tone of his voice. It was something between a wail and a whine with a bit of a sob thrown in for good measure. "Mommy," he pleaded. "Can you find my blue uniform? I can't compete unless I have it."
"Are you sure I don't have it?" I asked him. "Yes." "Check your gym bag and your backpack right now," I demanded. Shuffle. Shuffle. "It's not here."
"OK," I reassured him. "Where do you think your uniform is?" "I think it's in my top drawer." So off I went like the good mom I am to find nothing but mismatched socks in the top drawer and no blue uniform in the other drawers either or the closet or underneat the bed.
Then my husband got into the act after another frantic phone call. "He says it's in the top drawer," he told me. "It's not in the top drawer," I snapped. "Maybe it was last week but not anymore."
Half an hour later and we were still searching. We searched the dirty clothes in the laundry room a dozen times and the clean clothes half a dozen times. We overturned the hampers and searched through smelly socks and worse. We did everything but check the refrigerator.
We were unable to rescue my son from the situation. He had to face the consequences. We're so used to rescuing him but we couldn't produce the blue track uniform and R. came home feeling humiliated and nearly in tears.
I felt like crying too and my husband was angry at the coaches who let other kids play without their blue gym shorts. "Rules are rules," I told him. You can't tell a policeman that other people were speeding if you're caught doing 50 miles per hour ina 30 mile zone (not that I would know anything about that). You can't argue your kid should slide by because other kids are sliding by and it's the wrong message for your kid.
Long after R. had gotten over his disappointment and consoled himself with some video games, I was still searching for that darned uniform. I knew it could be hidden somewhere on his bed where you could easily hide an 800 pound gorilla under the blankets, animals and junk. But there were no blue shorts and shirt there or underneath or anywhere.
Finally I saw some papers underneath R.'s desk and underneatht he papers was the balled up uniform. I made him and my husband come in to see it before I fished it out. "What is the moral of this story?" I demanded. "To look everywhere?" my son ventured. "Wrong," I snapped. "To always put things where they belong. That was a hard lesson but you've got to learn."
And what was the moral of the story for us? The moral was that you can't always rescue your kid. And while it might be painful, it's the only way they learn for themselves.
"Are you sure I don't have it?" I asked him. "Yes." "Check your gym bag and your backpack right now," I demanded. Shuffle. Shuffle. "It's not here."
"OK," I reassured him. "Where do you think your uniform is?" "I think it's in my top drawer." So off I went like the good mom I am to find nothing but mismatched socks in the top drawer and no blue uniform in the other drawers either or the closet or underneat the bed.
Then my husband got into the act after another frantic phone call. "He says it's in the top drawer," he told me. "It's not in the top drawer," I snapped. "Maybe it was last week but not anymore."
Half an hour later and we were still searching. We searched the dirty clothes in the laundry room a dozen times and the clean clothes half a dozen times. We overturned the hampers and searched through smelly socks and worse. We did everything but check the refrigerator.
We were unable to rescue my son from the situation. He had to face the consequences. We're so used to rescuing him but we couldn't produce the blue track uniform and R. came home feeling humiliated and nearly in tears.
I felt like crying too and my husband was angry at the coaches who let other kids play without their blue gym shorts. "Rules are rules," I told him. You can't tell a policeman that other people were speeding if you're caught doing 50 miles per hour ina 30 mile zone (not that I would know anything about that). You can't argue your kid should slide by because other kids are sliding by and it's the wrong message for your kid.
Long after R. had gotten over his disappointment and consoled himself with some video games, I was still searching for that darned uniform. I knew it could be hidden somewhere on his bed where you could easily hide an 800 pound gorilla under the blankets, animals and junk. But there were no blue shorts and shirt there or underneath or anywhere.
Finally I saw some papers underneath R.'s desk and underneatht he papers was the balled up uniform. I made him and my husband come in to see it before I fished it out. "What is the moral of this story?" I demanded. "To look everywhere?" my son ventured. "Wrong," I snapped. "To always put things where they belong. That was a hard lesson but you've got to learn."
And what was the moral of the story for us? The moral was that you can't always rescue your kid. And while it might be painful, it's the only way they learn for themselves.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
overscheduled kids
I have always railed against parents overscheduling their kids. Kids need time to be kids, I argued. They need time to run around. They should be out playing hide and go seek, not zipping from activity to activity.
But now my sixth grader is on the track team at his middle school, he's playing Little League and he's taking piano lessons. My fourth grader takes ballet three days a week (yes ballet), plays Little League and plays the piano. Add in homework and you have a recipe for stress for all of us.
We cheered my older son on when he wanted to join track because he never seems much interested in joining things. But now he's sometimes going from track to Little League (thank you Chauffer Mom) and barely getting a breath in between.
My younger one has been dancing since he was 6 and he's at a level where he has to go three days a week. He still loves dancing but by this time of the year, there's a lot of whining before we get to those dance lessons.
Even their beloved baseball, coached by their own Dad, can elicit groans. Sometimes they come back from baseball games complaining that they haven't played all day. "Baseball is playing," I say sternly. "If you think it's work, don't do it next year."
The good news is there's no time for computers or TV. They get plenty of time outdoors and all this activity makes them eat well and sleep well. The bad news is that down time has become a precious commodity for all of us. If there's a game or a track meet, we have to be there. Likewise baseball games, piano recitals. The ballet recital is a joy to watch but takes major coordinating of grandparents and relatives.
This is how our life is now. I'm resigned to that. But forget the moral high ground about overscheduled kids. Mea culpa. I'm as guilty as anyone.
But now my sixth grader is on the track team at his middle school, he's playing Little League and he's taking piano lessons. My fourth grader takes ballet three days a week (yes ballet), plays Little League and plays the piano. Add in homework and you have a recipe for stress for all of us.
We cheered my older son on when he wanted to join track because he never seems much interested in joining things. But now he's sometimes going from track to Little League (thank you Chauffer Mom) and barely getting a breath in between.
My younger one has been dancing since he was 6 and he's at a level where he has to go three days a week. He still loves dancing but by this time of the year, there's a lot of whining before we get to those dance lessons.
Even their beloved baseball, coached by their own Dad, can elicit groans. Sometimes they come back from baseball games complaining that they haven't played all day. "Baseball is playing," I say sternly. "If you think it's work, don't do it next year."
The good news is there's no time for computers or TV. They get plenty of time outdoors and all this activity makes them eat well and sleep well. The bad news is that down time has become a precious commodity for all of us. If there's a game or a track meet, we have to be there. Likewise baseball games, piano recitals. The ballet recital is a joy to watch but takes major coordinating of grandparents and relatives.
This is how our life is now. I'm resigned to that. But forget the moral high ground about overscheduled kids. Mea culpa. I'm as guilty as anyone.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Putting kids to work
I'm putting my kids to work. I'm not forcing them to get a paper route (do they even have those nowadays) but I am insisting that they do more to keep the house clean and help out with chores.
We instituted this new policy after a busy week in which the house went from untidy (OK), to messy (bad), to embarassing disaster.
I'm no neat freak. Ask anyone. But when it gets to the disaster point, it makes me want to cry every time I come home. It's bad karma. It makes me want to burn it down and start all over again. Surely that would be easier.
So we had a family meeting and told the boys that we wanted more help. We want them to help clean the family area and keep their own room presentable. We told them that we all need to neaten up every day so we don't have to have massive clean-ups every week or so.
Then we spent the day cleaning. I cleaned the kitchen and the dining room and moved on to my bathroom and bedroom. My husband cleaned the living room and then moved on to his computer in the office. (Sigh).
I felt elated when my kids took out the trash and the recycling. It was a dream come true. I felt my spirits lifting. Then my mood plunged as I spent the day pleading with them and encouraging them and berating them in order to get them to clean their room.
It's probably not a good sign that one of my big threats is that I would come clean with them. "Noooooo," they wail. Anything but that. Still I found myself in their room trying to get them to put away their clothes. My oldest son proceeded to take the neatly folded teeshirts, cram them into a ball and then shove them into the drawer like you would try to cram the garbage into the garbagepail. Sigh. We're going to have to keep working on that one.
Now on day 3, I have tried to keep tidying and my children's room has gone back to chaos. So it's back to the drawing board today. Either that or I'm going to burn it down.
We instituted this new policy after a busy week in which the house went from untidy (OK), to messy (bad), to embarassing disaster.
I'm no neat freak. Ask anyone. But when it gets to the disaster point, it makes me want to cry every time I come home. It's bad karma. It makes me want to burn it down and start all over again. Surely that would be easier.
So we had a family meeting and told the boys that we wanted more help. We want them to help clean the family area and keep their own room presentable. We told them that we all need to neaten up every day so we don't have to have massive clean-ups every week or so.
Then we spent the day cleaning. I cleaned the kitchen and the dining room and moved on to my bathroom and bedroom. My husband cleaned the living room and then moved on to his computer in the office. (Sigh).
I felt elated when my kids took out the trash and the recycling. It was a dream come true. I felt my spirits lifting. Then my mood plunged as I spent the day pleading with them and encouraging them and berating them in order to get them to clean their room.
It's probably not a good sign that one of my big threats is that I would come clean with them. "Noooooo," they wail. Anything but that. Still I found myself in their room trying to get them to put away their clothes. My oldest son proceeded to take the neatly folded teeshirts, cram them into a ball and then shove them into the drawer like you would try to cram the garbage into the garbagepail. Sigh. We're going to have to keep working on that one.
Now on day 3, I have tried to keep tidying and my children's room has gone back to chaos. So it's back to the drawing board today. Either that or I'm going to burn it down.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Free Range Kids
Remember the writer who let her 9-year-old kid travel on the subway by himself? She gave him a pocketful of quarters and a map and a $20 bill and let him make his way home in New York. She immediately was labeled as a terrible mother.
Now Lenore Skenazy has written a book, "Free Range Kids: Giving Our Kids the Freedom We Enjoyed Without Going Nuts With Worry," (whew!) in which she details her thoughts on letting kids go. Literally.
Her thesis seems to be that you can let kids go out and play and go their friends' houses for playdates without hovering over them, as long as you know exactly where they are and they can get in touch with you.
When I told my husband about the subway experiment, he shrugged. He used to ride the subway and buses by himself all the time when he was 9. I lived in suburban Long Island but we played outside until dinnertime and no one was certain where we were in the neighborhood.
When Skenazy appeared on WNYC's the Brian Lehrer show, she got a phone call from an irate man whose sister was abducted. He was furious that the subject was being treated so lightly. But I know that child abductions are actually quite rare and usually are done by a relative or someone else who the child knows.
I think what Skenazy says makes a lot of sense. Kids should be given more freedom. But even if lived in New York, I don't think I'd be ready - or my kids would be ready- to hand over that Metro card and let them go.
Now Lenore Skenazy has written a book, "Free Range Kids: Giving Our Kids the Freedom We Enjoyed Without Going Nuts With Worry," (whew!) in which she details her thoughts on letting kids go. Literally.
Her thesis seems to be that you can let kids go out and play and go their friends' houses for playdates without hovering over them, as long as you know exactly where they are and they can get in touch with you.
When I told my husband about the subway experiment, he shrugged. He used to ride the subway and buses by himself all the time when he was 9. I lived in suburban Long Island but we played outside until dinnertime and no one was certain where we were in the neighborhood.
When Skenazy appeared on WNYC's the Brian Lehrer show, she got a phone call from an irate man whose sister was abducted. He was furious that the subject was being treated so lightly. But I know that child abductions are actually quite rare and usually are done by a relative or someone else who the child knows.
I think what Skenazy says makes a lot of sense. Kids should be given more freedom. But even if lived in New York, I don't think I'd be ready - or my kids would be ready- to hand over that Metro card and let them go.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Olive Kitteridge and letting go
My book club happened to pick Elizabeth Strout’s “Olive Kitteridge” as our selection this month before it received the Pulitzer Prize. We felt very smug about our discriminating literary tastes after it got the award.
The book is a series of interconnected stories about a large, 60-something woman who is very blunt to the point of abusive and who both adores and is mean to her husband and son. Naturally, the son moves 3,000 miles away to California and breaks his bewildered mothers heart. (Click here for a link to the Christian Science Monitor story and the Nite Swim blog about the book.
“If you have boys, you have to get used to the idea that you won’t be part of their lives,” one mother of two boys said. We then got into a lively debate about whether daughters really are better about keeping in touch.
Many of us said that we are the ones who are in charge of keeping touch and that we even keep in touch with our in-laws or nag our husbands to keep in touch. One woman said her brother was good about calling her parents but then again, he is in Spain and her parents are in New Jersey.
I call my mom a couple of times a week and she often laments that she hasn’t heard from one of my brothers for weeks. With all of my brothers, the onus is on my mother or me to make an effort to keep in touch. They don’t call, they don’t write. Is this the typical boy/man behavior?
Then again, one woman pointed out, the sons of single women seem to be very protective of their mothers and to be closer with them when they grow up. Should we all go out and get divorced to make sure we have a better relationship with our kids?
Then there’s the whole daughter-in-law thing. I live in dread that I will have daughter-in-laws who hate me as thoroughly as Olive Kitteridge’s daughter-in-law. I’m not quite as intrusive as she is but I think there’s often tension between mothers and daughters-in-law.
Two of my brothers live in my hometown and visit my father at least once a week. So they are dutiful sons to the parent who probably needs it the most. Maybe they’re less in touch with my mother because she’s so independent or maybe they have their own issues with her.
I’ve resigned myself to the fact that my sons probably won’t go shopping with me. (Although William does like to shop so maybe they will). They may not chat on the phone with me the way I do with my mom. And the probably won’t ever quilt with me. But I hope we’ll find some way of being in touch.
Of course all this hand wringing over children who are still several years away from college is a little funny. I told one friends I’m not sure whether I should worry about them moving away and leaving me or I should worry that they won’t move away and leave me. I suspect the later would be worse for them. I don’t really want them tied to my apron strings. I’m just hoping that whatever ties we have don’t fray or get broken when my sons are adults and I’m an overbearing old lady.
In the meantime, I have to pick them up from school and take them to piano lessons. We might go out for pizza and watch a video and if we want to be in touch, I just have to reach out. I might as well savor that while it lasts.
The book is a series of interconnected stories about a large, 60-something woman who is very blunt to the point of abusive and who both adores and is mean to her husband and son. Naturally, the son moves 3,000 miles away to California and breaks his bewildered mothers heart. (Click here for a link to the Christian Science Monitor story and the Nite Swim blog about the book.
“If you have boys, you have to get used to the idea that you won’t be part of their lives,” one mother of two boys said. We then got into a lively debate about whether daughters really are better about keeping in touch.
Many of us said that we are the ones who are in charge of keeping touch and that we even keep in touch with our in-laws or nag our husbands to keep in touch. One woman said her brother was good about calling her parents but then again, he is in Spain and her parents are in New Jersey.
I call my mom a couple of times a week and she often laments that she hasn’t heard from one of my brothers for weeks. With all of my brothers, the onus is on my mother or me to make an effort to keep in touch. They don’t call, they don’t write. Is this the typical boy/man behavior?
Then again, one woman pointed out, the sons of single women seem to be very protective of their mothers and to be closer with them when they grow up. Should we all go out and get divorced to make sure we have a better relationship with our kids?
Then there’s the whole daughter-in-law thing. I live in dread that I will have daughter-in-laws who hate me as thoroughly as Olive Kitteridge’s daughter-in-law. I’m not quite as intrusive as she is but I think there’s often tension between mothers and daughters-in-law.
Two of my brothers live in my hometown and visit my father at least once a week. So they are dutiful sons to the parent who probably needs it the most. Maybe they’re less in touch with my mother because she’s so independent or maybe they have their own issues with her.
I’ve resigned myself to the fact that my sons probably won’t go shopping with me. (Although William does like to shop so maybe they will). They may not chat on the phone with me the way I do with my mom. And the probably won’t ever quilt with me. But I hope we’ll find some way of being in touch.
Of course all this hand wringing over children who are still several years away from college is a little funny. I told one friends I’m not sure whether I should worry about them moving away and leaving me or I should worry that they won’t move away and leave me. I suspect the later would be worse for them. I don’t really want them tied to my apron strings. I’m just hoping that whatever ties we have don’t fray or get broken when my sons are adults and I’m an overbearing old lady.
In the meantime, I have to pick them up from school and take them to piano lessons. We might go out for pizza and watch a video and if we want to be in touch, I just have to reach out. I might as well savor that while it lasts.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Columbine Shooting Anniversary
Today is the anniversary of the Columbine shootings in which 13 people were killed and 24 injured. Since then we've had the shootings at Virginia Tech in which 32 students and teachers were killed and earlier this month we had the shootings at the Binghamton, N.Y. immigration center in which 13 were killed and four were injured.
In the wake of the Columbine shootings, there was a lot of searching for answers. There were anti-bullying campaigns and calls for better security and there was hope that maybe this would lead to better gun control.
Well, it turns out that none of it went very far. I think the anti-bullying campaigns are terrific, mind you, and they may prevent other types of violence and suicide among young people. But it turns out that the two shooters, Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris, weren't bullied. Slate Magazine's Dave Cullen, who wrote a new book "Columbine," says that the two boys weren't bullied. He says that Harris that was a true psychopath while Klebold was the follower. Their motivation was to kill as many people as possible.
Cullen says that there is no profile of school shooters. They're not necessarily the bullied loners.
In another piece Cullen says that we have increased school security and learned to respond better to these incidents. We've learned that there is no classic profile. We've also learned that these kids often give hints about what they're planning in advance.http://www.slate.com/id/2216122/.
But all this seems like small potatoes compared to the gun issue. There's been very little progress on banning automatic weapons. Now President Obama has backed off promises to ban assault weapons and his administration is indefinitely postponing even making an effort because of the powerful NRA.
We are a very, very stupid country when it comes to guns. When are we going to take the steps necessary so that kids can't get hold of guns and certainly can't get hold of guns that fire round after round of bullets within minutes, killing innocent people.
It is maddening that with all the talk of the Columbine Anniversary there is so little talk about taking real steps to take the weapons out of the hands of psychopaths.
But all this seems like small potatoes compared to the gun issue.
In the wake of the Columbine shootings, there was a lot of searching for answers. There were anti-bullying campaigns and calls for better security and there was hope that maybe this would lead to better gun control.
Well, it turns out that none of it went very far. I think the anti-bullying campaigns are terrific, mind you, and they may prevent other types of violence and suicide among young people. But it turns out that the two shooters, Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris, weren't bullied. Slate Magazine's Dave Cullen, who wrote a new book "Columbine," says that the two boys weren't bullied. He says that Harris that was a true psychopath while Klebold was the follower. Their motivation was to kill as many people as possible.
Cullen says that there is no profile of school shooters. They're not necessarily the bullied loners.
In another piece Cullen says that we have increased school security and learned to respond better to these incidents. We've learned that there is no classic profile. We've also learned that these kids often give hints about what they're planning in advance.http://www.slate.com/id/2216122/.
But all this seems like small potatoes compared to the gun issue. There's been very little progress on banning automatic weapons. Now President Obama has backed off promises to ban assault weapons and his administration is indefinitely postponing even making an effort because of the powerful NRA.
We are a very, very stupid country when it comes to guns. When are we going to take the steps necessary so that kids can't get hold of guns and certainly can't get hold of guns that fire round after round of bullets within minutes, killing innocent people.
It is maddening that with all the talk of the Columbine Anniversary there is so little talk about taking real steps to take the weapons out of the hands of psychopaths.
But all this seems like small potatoes compared to the gun issue.
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