Category: Parenting

Break It To Me Gently

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Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for our inability to bring you the Finale that we promised.
–Leading Player, Pippin

In the play, the promised Grand Finale cannot take place because the title character has chosen something better.  Sometimes it works that way in real life, too.

The production of Pippin in which Little Brother was one of a troupe of only 12 actors has had its two final performances canceled–for good reason.  One of the lead characters (the Leading Player) is mourning the sudden loss of a close family member.  The director wisely decided that the best course of action is to cancel the remaining performances, out of love and respect for this actor.

There are times, and this is one of them, when the show must not go on.

A cast of 12, as you can imagine, gets pretty close-knit after three months of rehearsals.  Most of the actors have known each other for quite a while already.  Definitely, the right thing to do is to close the production and focus on supporting this actor in his time of loss.

This is not the Finale we were promised.  It’s not the semi-happy ending you expect for a musical comedy.

The hard part is still ahead.  One actor has to get through this time of grief.  The others will grieve for him.  Cast, crew and band alike will miss the opportunity to celebrate a spectacular Closing Night.  It’s not the way they want to say goodbye to each other.

It will be difficult all around.  Little Brother doesn’t know yet; I’m putting it off until after school.  I didn’t learn of the cancellation until it was almost bedtime last night, and I figured that it would be better not to try to send him off to bed or school right after hearing upsetting news.  (I did tell him that the actor had a death in the family, but that’s all he knows at this point.)

Little Brother invests himself very deeply in the cast of a show.  I’ve seen it happen with The Wizard of Oz and MAME.  Even with this show, after opening weekend was over and there were no more rehearsals, he was sad that he’d have to wait Five Whole Days to see everyone again.

This afternoon I’m going to have to disappoint a little boy.  That’s nothing compared to what one actor is going through, but for a nine-year-old, it’s still a pretty big thing.  I hope that I can help him put aside his own sadness at closing the play early and focus on someone else’s sadness.

When we discussed the question of whether Little Brother would be allowed to audition for this role (the theatre is quite far away and it would be a huge time commitment) my husband observed that being in a play would be a very enriching experience.  At the time, we believed that all it would mean for Little Brother would be growth in confidence and exposure to culture.  We did not expect–surely we should have, but we didn’t–that it would also prove to be a time in which he would learn important life lessons.

Rivers belong where they can ramble,
Eagles belong where they can fly.
I’ve got to be where my spirit can run free
Gotta find my corner of the sky.

In your kindness, remember S. in his time of loss.

Funeral Etiquette for Teens

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This morning Middle Sister told us that one of her friends’ grandfathers had died.  She was, understandably, sad for her friend, since she certainly knows what it’s like to lose a grandfather.  I told her to let me know when the funeral arrangements were made, and that if she (and other friends) wanted a ride to the wake, I’d be happy to help with that.

So here’s the big question:  I’ve met this kid’s parents maybe twice.  Do I go in with the kids to the funeral home, or just wait outside?  Do I go through the whole “condolences and procession past the casket” thing when the only family member I really know is a teenage boy?  (Awkward…)  Or do I go in and just stand in the back and wait for all the kids to be done?  At this point, I’m not sure what my daughter wants, or if she even knows.

In a completely unrelated matter, Middle Sister’s friends all think it’s weird that we say “wake.”  Apparently, here in South Jersey, which is a completely different country than North Jersey, where I grew up, they say “viewing.”  Even if it’s a closed casket.  (So when she texted them with my offer of a ride to the funeral home, they all said “What’s a wake?”)

What a difference a day makes

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Teenagers.  They’re frustrating one minute, but inspire your awe and pride the next.  Since I vented yesterday about that little attitude problem I had with my daughter, it’s only right that I commend the heart and friendship she exhibited today.

Even more amazing is that all of this happened while she was very far from feeling her best.  She was feeling pretty punky this morning, but in the absence of a fever or migraine or stomach-flu symptoms, I sent her off to school.  Just after 8:30 (less than 45 minutes after her arrival) she texted me to come pick her up, that she was in the nurse’s office.  Yup, stomach flu.

True to form, she opened up during the short drive home.  (Kids always open up in the car!)  Apparently a good friend of hers is very upset with her mom.  The friend is an only child; Mom’s a single parent; Dad is remarried and lives in a nearby city with his new wife and 2 small children from that marriage.  And Mom doesn’t drive, but she works long hours, until late at night sometimes.  My daughter’s friend feels like she gets no attention from her mom, that her mom doesn’t care about her, that she should move in with her dad.  She is either alone from just after school until late in the evening or with an aunt, uncle and young cousin with whom she doesn’t get along well.

I observed to Middle Sister that her friend probably wasn’t complaining to her all the time in order to get Middle Sister to solve the problem; that she probably just wanted someone to listen.  And I commiserated with her friend that it must be tough to be all alone all evening with no way to get anywhere, and all of that.

A few minutes after we arrived home, my daughter was set up with her ginger ale and crackers and cell phone.  And then she asked if we could do something for her friend, if her friend could come here after school a couple of times a week and have dinner with our family so she wouldn’t be alone so much.

I told her that would be fine, as long as I knew in advance when we’d have a dinner guest and if it wasn’t on the nights when Little Brother has rehearsal, because we’d have to drive this girl home after dinner and that won’t work on rehearsal nights.

And this is why I do what I do.  She may be 16, but as her friend’s situation clearly demonstrates, 16-year-olds need parents around too.  Families with a stay-at-home parent make sacrifices so that can happen.  I know that not every family is able to do this, but I am very grateful that my family can and does, and that, in her own way, my daughter knows that it’s a good thing.

A P.T. Barnum Kind of Morning

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P. T. Barnum reportedly observed, “There is a sucker born every minute.”

Today, that would be me.

This is the part where I get to eat those words I dished out last night when I wrote about how I’m happy to be able to do something for my daughter.  Because this morning, she made it onto the school bus on time, but her laptop didn’t.  A few minutes after she left, I got a text message:

“Laptop…”

“For real?” I responded.  Then, locating the laptop near the top of the stairs, I texted her, “I see it.  Where to met?”

“? Where do you think” is what I got back.

Really?  You want to smart off at me when I’m doing you a favor?  The laptop is a school-issued, required piece of equipment that serves as both textbook and notebook in most of her classes.  So unlike the consequences she might suffer if she left her literature textbook home, she’s basically unprepared for every single class if she doesn’t have the laptop.

So I rescued her.  Again.  She forgets the laptop fairly often.

And after the smart answers in today’s text message, plus the generous dose of attitude she showed me when I expressed some frustration at having to wait for her so I could deliver the computer, this might be the last time I bring it over there.  Yes, school is only a mile away.  Yes, I was home at the time.  But, oh well–maybe this kind of a favor, unlike a hot, nutritious dinner for a student involved in several after-school activities, isn’t the kind of favor that does anyone any favors.

My sister calls me a sucker for dropping everything to deliver forgotten computers, textbooks, lunches, and track shoes to my daughter at school.  Maybe I am.  And maybe I’d be a better parent if I were less of a sucker.  I’d rather she misses the bus and  is sure to have all her stuff than making the bus and expecting a speedy delivery.

Next time she can just face the consequences, and then maybe, just maybe, there won’t be too many next times after that.

The sucker has left the building.

Enough Garbage Already

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In my continuing quest to win the Mother of the Year award, I’ve been having a bit of a battle of wills with Little Brother.  He’s 9 and really feeling his oats these days.  And I’ve pretty much had it.

He’s the one who’s home more often than not, so he’s the one who gets the chores that fall into the category that a certain camp director I once knew termed “Duties As Assigned.”  Basically, that means “do whatever the person in charge asks you to do.”  With a shortage of teenagers around here these past few weeks (Middle Sister’s been involved in the play at school), the only one around to help with Duties As Assigned is Little Brother.

There has been much moaning, groaning, weeping, wailing, and let’s not forget the gnashing of teeth, about how he’s expected to do all the chores around here.  Must be why he’s so at home in the theatre; he certainly does have a flair for the dramatic.

Last night we were all home for dinner for the first time in several weeks, and we got up from the table and opened up the boxes of Christmas ornaments to decorate the tree.  That done, we remembered that there was still a kitchen to clean up.  TheDad asked all the kids to help me get that done.

Two teenagers headed in and got water running and started emptying clean dishes from the dishwasher.  I handed Little Brother the silverware basket, and he began removing forks and placing them on the still-unwiped table where I’d carved the roast chicken earlier.

That’s when it got ugly, so I just sent him to bed, which involved me spending the next half hour repeating, “Good night, Little Brother” until he finally gave up (Curses!  Foiled again by Mom’s Broken-Record Parenting Technique.)

After lunch today, I asked Big Brother to please take out the kitchen trash.  He said, “OK” and started to get up.  Little Brother chimed in, “GOOD!  I don’t have to do all the chores around here for once.”

You know where this is going, right?  Here’s what I said next:  “Big Brother, sit down.  Little Brother, please take out the kitchen trash.”

That had better be the end of it.

And Now, for a Limited Time Only

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The kids are getting older.  (I’m getting older.  According to Little Brother, I’m only 7 1/2 short years away from “old.”)  And while I’ve never really been the nostalgic or sentimental type–leaving that job to my husband, who’s way better at that kind of stuff than I am–nostalgia has been creeping up on me lately, whether I want it around or not.

Little Brother will turn 10 this March.  By then, Big Brother will be 20 and Middle Sister 16.

Yikes.

My kids are growing up on me, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

Really, I love being a parent of older kids.  They’re toilet-trained, literate, and can make their own toast.  2 out of 3 of them don’t need a babysitter anymore.  I love watching my kids try something new, work hard at it, pick themselves up when they fall on their faces, and succeed in amazing ways.  I endured their toddler years to get to this point.

But I’m not ready to give up all of it.  I’m glad that Little Brother is still excited that St. Nicholas would leave some treats in his shoe last night.  He was thrilled to receive a ticket to “Lunch with Santa” from a dear friend. He’s worrying that Santa won’t be able to get down our chimney (maybe I shouldn’t have let him listen to a certain rather macabre holiday tune).  I’m not ready for the time when someone has to burst his bubble.

Again and again I am reminded that my kids are kids for a limited time only.  If I’m not careful I will turn into one of those “older people” who smiles at the moms struggling with toddler meltdowns in the middle of ShopRite and says, “Before you know it, they will be all grown up.  Enjoy this!”  (I really hated those people, by the way.)

I had to request Big Brother’s medical records from the pediatrician.  He’s too old for examining rooms that feature Scooby-Doo and Disney princesses.  We’ve been with this same pediatrician’s office for almost 20 years–all of Big Brother’s life–and we’ve only got 10 years more to go with them.

I am 2/3 finished with this portion of our program, folks.  In 10 years, Little Brother will be off to college and done with the pediatrician–though with luck, he’ll still have a soft spot in his heart for Scooby-Doo.  10 years is not that long.

These are the years in which I finish making the switch from “hands-on” parenting to “step away from the helicopter” parenting.  I have to deliberately hold back, let them make mistakes, offer (unwanted) advice, drive them places, shell out cash, drive them other places, refuse to let them go to some places, and have a hot meal ready for them when they’re ready for the hot meal.

In return, I get to see them make the honor roll (2 of them), win awards for hard work at soccer (2 of them), competently and confidently pull off complicated Propsmistress tasks, rehearse for musicals, and score interviews for paid summer internships.  (That interview is today.  Prayers would be appreciated.)  All that has happened in the past 3 weeks.

Those have been good weeks.

Here’s to the next 10 years.

Things Parents Say

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…and an indication that Standards Are Slipping around here:

“When you eat a Hot Pocket in the bathroom, please clean up what you drop on the floor.”

Productivity On the Go

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…because when you’re a Soccer Mom and a Stage Mom, sometimes you just have no choice.

After-dinner hours around here used to include washing dishes, hanging around, reading a book and having ice cream before presiding over showers, tooth-brushing and other going-to-sleep rituals. Now the kids are older and busier. And while Middle Sister, as a high-school sophomore, can be dropped off at sports practices and play rehearsals, the same is not true for nine-year-old Little Brother. Someone’s got to stay with him. More often than not, that someone is Mom.

7 PM is my slow time of day, when I’m just concentrating on staying awake long enough to make sure that Little Brother brushes ALL his teeth. Not anymore. Now I’m headed for rehearsals that last until 10 or later! The director had dangled the carrot of “sensitivity to his bedtime when school starts” but what neither she (nor I) realized when she asked him to audition was that this was affecting my bedtime too.

I’m trying to get some stuff done when I’m sitting in a straight chair in a small rehearsal space for 3 hours on end. The other day I had a stack of the “Personal Journal” sections from The Wall Street Journal. I love to read those but don’t always get the chance, and they pile up in a corner. It’s not like most of them have time-sensitive articles. I got through a whole month’s worth on Tuesday night.

Tonight I’m bringing my copy of Apocalypse Chow and my shopping list; a hurricane is on the way here and I want to have some ideas of how to cook and otherwise prepare in case we lose power. If I finish that, I’ve got Michele Buckman’s Death Panels with me too–although that book is downright terrifying.

It’s pretty impressive what I can get done, even without Wi-Fi.

But no matter how productive I manage to be at rehearsal, I’m still going to walk out of there with “Mame” stuck in my head.

To Be Fair

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I don’t want to paint all 15-year-olds with the same broad brush.  I arrived home from an errand today to find Middle Sister and two friends (one girl, one guy) in the pool.  TheDad told me that when the visitors arrived, they came in (without being asked) to say hello before swimming.

We had some grilled hamburgers, baked beans and salad for dinner.  The teens ate, talked, laughed, and then bused their own dishes without being asked–politely checking with me to see where I wanted them to put the dirty plates.  Before leaving, they both thanked us for the meal and the swim.

Visitors like THOSE are welcome anytime.

Inspiring Me Today

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Great affairs do not disturb us so much as a great number of little ones; therefore, receive these also with calmness, and try to attend to them in order, one after another, without perturbation. Thus, you will gain great merit by them. — St. Francis de Sales

I found this very timely quote over at Faith & Family Live.  While blogger Kelly Dolin was discussing life with toddlers, it’s no less true when you’ve got teens and grade-schoolers in the house.

After I found myself defeated, again and again, by the “little things” this week, I need the inspiration.  It’s not like there have been any major crises.  But it’s been a tough week, that has included:

  • Little Brother running a fever of 103.7, complete with a spell of vomiting.
  • An extended-family medical issue that culminated in a 2-day houseguest.
  • A bunch of teenagers who don’t follow the “say hello to the adult at home” rule when they show up to swim.  They also don’t bring their own towels, and they empty my porch refrigerator of all beverages.  And they leave their mess behind.
  • A teenager (yet to be identified) who thinks it’s funny to spell out one of George Carlin’s “7 words you can’t say on TV” with the ABC magnets we keep near the porch refrigerator.  (Usually those are used to wish a friend a happy birthday.)
  • Adventure Boy vomiting on the pool deck (but fortunately not in the pool itself.)
It hasn’t been pretty, and I haven’t handled all of this well.  And some of it’s not over yet.  Now we have to play hardball with a bunch of 15-year-olds until someone apologizes for his use of filthy vocabulary and lack of respect of us and our daughter.
I think I’m going to have to pull out my Francis de Sales book and see if he has any more advice for people like me, who can handle big things pretty well, but let the little things pile up and pile up and pile up until they lose it completely.  It’s going to be a long summer, and I’ll need all the grace I can get.